If the criminal could have read Nick Carter’s mind about that time, he would have been still more uneasy—and with good reason. Ernest Gordon had not been the only one who had played a part during the interview which had ended in the detective’s act of copying his caller’s features, and borrowing his clothes. For the first few minutes, it must be confessed that the detective was completely deceived. He knew Green Eye to be a master of surprises, but it had not occurred to him to suspect that the clever rascal would resort to anything so spectacular. Besides, Gordon had placed himself so that the light did not fall strongly. It was not until the caller suggested a change of identities that the detective began to question. It was very seldom that a client presumed to offer such assistance, and Nick’s knowledge of Chester Gillespie had not prepared him for such a proposition. He gave no evidence, however, that the seed of suspicion had been planted, but fell in with the suggestion, knowing that in carrying it out, he would have the best possible opportunity of studying his visitor. He noted a slight hesitation on the latter’s part No make-up could have stood that test—at least, with Nick Carter at the observer’s end. “What fools the cleverest of us are sometimes!” the detective thought, with an inward chuckle. “Gordon has such a good opinion of himself, and is so certain that a man needs only to be daring enough in order to carry everything before him, that he’s actually willing to undergo this sort of thing—and he thinks he’s getting away with it!” It was no part of the detective’s plan, however, to reveal his knowledge of the deception. He wished to give the masquerader as much rope as he could, in order to find out just what Gordon was trying to do. Moreover, he was curious to visit Gillespie’s house and find out how Green Eye had succeeded in making himself at home there. Gillespie might have been overpowered and stowed away somewhere, or even murdered—though that was unlikely, unless the crime had been committed owing to an accident or miscalculation on Gordon’s part. When the detective reached Gillespie’s house on Fifth Avenue, he found the situation just as Gordon had described it. An aged butler answered the bell, and, save for him, the big house seemed deserted. Nick was about to question the old man in a roundabout way in order to discover, if possible, whether Nick took them after a second’s hesitation, studying the butler’s face as he did so. From the man’s squint and the lines about the eyes, he saw that the butler was nearsighted. Probably he had been in the family for a long time, but this defect in his eyesight explained his failure to detect the deception. But where was the real Chester J. Gillespie, whose second double was now entering his house, and calmly inspecting his letters? Gordon had given Nick certain necessary particulars concerning the arrangement of the house, and, thanks to these, the detective mounted the stairs with the utmost assurance, leaving the nearsighted old butler bowing in the lower hall. He found his way to Gillespie’s private room easily enough, the letters still in his hand. After looking about him curiously, and noting the certain evidences of recent occupancy, he sat down and glanced mechanically at the letters. One of them obviously was a business communication, but the other was not. The envelope was unusually large, and of the finest texture. As for the writing, it was big, heavy, and sprawling. In the lower left-hand corner were the words, “Important—please forward,” and they were heavily underscored. All is fair in love and war, they say, and if that is so, all is fair in detection as well, especially when the detective is trying to safeguard the man whose identity he has temporarily appropriated. Under the circumstances, therefore, Nick felt justified in opening any of Gillespie’s correspondence that seemed to promise a solution of the mystery, just as he would have ransacked the house for a similar clew. There might be nothing in it, of course, but this letter appeared to be somewhat out of the ordinary, and might be valuable. Consequently, after a little hesitation, Nick ripped the envelope open without the slightest attempt at concealment, and drew the inclosure out. Soon he was very glad that he had done so, for the letter read as follows: “Dear Old Lunatic: You do not seem to have improved in the matter of memory or level-headedness. You write me from some unpronounceable place in South America—I judge solely from the postmark—and do not tell me where to find you. How the dickens can I join you down there for a month’s shooting, if you do not give me more particulars? I know you too well, you see, to imagine for a moment that you stayed more than a day or two at the place from which you wrote. That was nearly two weeks ago, and by this time you may be thousands of miles away from there. “Your letter was forwarded to me up here in Maine, and the best thing I can think of doing is to send this There was a little more of it, but the rest does not matter. It was signed by a well-known young man about town. So that was it, was it? The only original Chester Gillespie was still down in South America, and only about two weeks before had written to a New York friend, inviting him down for a month’s shooting. That argued that he did not expect to return for many weeks. In some manner, Gordon must have learned that interesting fact, and, seemingly, had disguised himself as Gillespie, with the aid of a photograph or photographs of that young man. So much for the way the trick had been sprung. For the rest, there was no doubt in Nick’s mind as to Green Eye’s further intention. The criminal had learned of the detective’s return, and had guessed what Nick’s plan of campaign would be. In other words, he had concluded that Nick had the index of the records in the safe, and could easily find out which ones were missing. Knowing by that means where danger threatened, Nick could set a trap for the blackmailer, with the help of one or more of the latter’s prospective victims. “He knew just about what to expect,” the detective mused, “and when he found that Gillespie was out of the country, having left only a couple of old people in charge of the house, he hit upon this scheme of circumventing me. If he’s left alone, he’ll find some “Oh, it’s a pretty smooth scheme—one of the smoothest anybody ever thought out! I’m afraid, however, that he’s inclined to underrate my intelligence, and to overrate his own ability.” |