Coryell The Collected Works of John R. Coryell (Including Complete Detective Nick Carter Series)

The Crime of the French Café, Nick Carter's Ghost Story, The Mystery of St. Agnes' Hospital, The Solution of a Remarkable Case, With Links of Steel, A Woman at Bay & The Great Spy System
1. Auflage 2016
ISBN: 978-80-268-5344-2
Verlag: e-artnow
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 1480 Seiten

This carefully crafted ebook: 'The Collected Works of John R. Coryell (Including Complete Detective Nick Carter Series)' is formatted for your eReader with a functional and detailed table of contents. John R. Coryell (1848-1924) was a prolific dime novel author. He wrote under many pseudonyms, one of them being Nicholas Carter, probably the best known. Nick Carter is a fictional character, invented by John R. Coryell and Ormond G. Smith, who began as a thriller novel private detective and has appeared in a variety of formats over more than a century. His father, Sin Carter, was also a detective and he taught young Nick some investigation techniques from early ages. After his father's death during one case, Nick takes over the investigation and continues to work as a detective. A master of disguise, Nick Carter spends most of the time under cover and keeps a low profile, based in an apartment on Madison Avenue in New York. Table of Contents: The Crime of the French Café Nick Carter's Ghost Story The Mystery of St. Agnes' Hospital The Solution of a Remarkable Case With Links of Steel (The Peril of the Unknown) A Woman at Bay (A Fiend in Skirts) The Great Spy System (Nick Carter's Promise to the President)

Autoren/Hrsg.

Coryell, John R.

Leseproben

Chapter VII.
The Wardrobe of Gaspard’s Friend Table of Contents Nick Carter is hard to kill. A good many crooks have tried to put him out of the world, and a fair percentage of them have lost their own lives in the attempt without inflicting any injury upon Nick. He is a man of resources, and that’s what saves him. When one thing fails him, he finds something else to take its place. And so, when that rope gave way, he took the next best thing. That happened to be the sill of the window of Mr. Jones’ bath-room. Nick seized it with a grip of iron as he shot downward. The strain on his arms was something awful, but he held on. His fingers gripped the wood till they dented it. In two seconds he had scrambled through the window into Jones’ flat. It was done so noiselessly that the colored servant in the room directly opposite, across the narrow shaft, was not disturbed in her reading. From the bath-room Nick made his way to the hall, and thence to the parlor, where Mr. Jones—to judge by the light in the window observed by Musgrave—had decided to spend the evening. Mr. Jones was not visible when Nick looked into the room. The bedroom adjoining was also empty. Nick ran through the flat, but saw nobody. He returned to the parlor, and there stood Mr. Jones under the chandelier. “Well, upon my word!” exclaimed Jones, “how did you get here?” “I might ask you the same,” said Nick, “but it isn’t worth while.” “I’ve been here all the time.” “Except when you were on the roof.” “Nonsense! What should I be doing on the roof.” “It wasn’t what you were doing; it was what you were undoing that bothered me. You were undoing the knot with which I fastened my rope before I descended your air shaft to get a peep at your servant.” “Nonsense again, Mr. Carter. How could I get to the roof?” “I’ll show you just how it was done. In the first place, you saw me coming back to the house, and you guessed what I was going to do. “You went into this room,” and Nick dragged Jones into a sort of closet adjoining the parlor, “and you got out of that window onto the fire escape. “That led you to the roof, and the rest was simple. You saw me go down, and you tried to make me go down farther and a good deal faster. But you failed, and the game’s up. Now come to headquarters again.” “What for?” “For trying to kill me. That’s the charge against you. And I haven’t got through with you on that other matter.” “But for heaven’s sake pity my wife!” “What’s the matter with her?” “She will be crazy when she gets back and finds me gone.” “One of my men will tell her where you are. Why did you lie to me about her going out? I’ve a great mind to place her, too, under arrest.” “You can’t do it. It’s no crime to dodge a detective. I admit that she did it, but for a very innocent purpose. She has gone to see our lawyer.” “Very well; I will attend to that later. Now, come with me.” Nick took Jones to the street. Musgrave got a policeman, and Jones was put in his care. Musgrave remained on the watch for Mrs. Jones, while Nick went to get a report from Patsy, who was shadowing Gaspard. Jones’ last words to Nick were these: “I am a victim of circumstances. I had nothing to do with the murder in the restaurant, nor with any attempt upon your life. You are doing me a grave injustice. If you were not as blind as a bat you would see who the real criminals are.” These words were pronounced in a calm and steady tone, and it cannot be denied that they produced a great effect upon Nick. “If it should prove that I have wronged you,” he said, “I will repay you for the injury to the limit of your demand.” And the detective did a lot of hard thinking while he was walking toward Gaspard’s lodgings, where he expected to meet Patsy. Certainly if Jones ever succeeded in establishing his innocence he would have won a friend in Nick Carter, whose good will is worth a fortune to any man. Nick found Patsy outside the house where Gaspard lodged. “I’m dead onto this fellow,” said the youth. “He’s just about ready to flit. He’s bought lots of stuff to-day, and is flush with money. “A man just went in there with a suit of clothes. Two delivery wagons from dry goods stores have been here. I suppose that the stuff they brought belongs to the woman who is going with Gaspard.” “Have you seen her?” “No; she has kept mighty dark.” “Hello! what’s this?” Nick drew Patsy more closely into the shadow of the steps by which they were standing. A carriage rumbled over the pavement and stopped before the door of Gaspard’s lodging-house. “Upon my word,” said Nick, “it’s my old friend Harrigan on the box. The way people keep bobbing up in this case is something wonderful.” “Perhaps the woman’s in the cab,” whispered Patsy. On the contrary, the cab was empty. Harrigan got off the box and rang the bell. Nick heard him ask for Gaspard Lebeau. Gaspard was summoned. “I’ve two trunks for you,” said Harrigan. “For me?” asked Gaspard. “Yes; a young woman hired me to bring them, and she said it would be all right. You’d pay the price.” “What sort of a woman?” “A very gallus French siren with a big white hat and a black plume as long as the tail of me horse.” “All right,” said Gaspard, promptly; “bring in the trunks.” They were carried up the stairs to Gaspard’s room. Harrigan mounted the box and drove away. “Follow him,” said Nick. “Bring him back here in about half an hour.” Patsy darted away in pursuit of the cab. Nick walked up to the door of Gaspard’s house and rang the bell. He was directed to the Frenchman’s room. Gaspard was examining the two trunks. He looked very much embarrassed at the sight of Nick. “What’s all this, Gaspard?” asked the detective. “I hear you’re going back to France.” “I? Oh, no. New York suits me much better.” “But what are these trunks doing here?” Gaspard looked particularly foolish. “They are the property of a friend—a lady. To tell the truth, I hope to marry her. A charming girl, monsieur; and innocent as a dove.” “Why does she send her trunks here?” “Ah, that I do not know. It was not agreed upon.” “Have you any idea what is in them?” “Her wardrobe. Ah, she is extravagant. She buys many dresses. But then, what would you have? When one is young and beautiful—” Gaspard finished his sentence with a sweep of the arms. “They are heavy,” said Nick, lifting one of the trunks and setting it crosswise on a lounge. He took a bunch of keys from his pocket. Gaspard seemed aghast. “You would not open it?” he cried. “Perhaps it won’t be necessary,” said Nick. “This may answer.” He drew a knife from his pocket and opened one of the blades, which was sharpened like a very large nut-pick. With a sudden movement, he struck this into the bottom of the trunk, and then withdrew it. A dark red stream followed the blade when it was withdrawn. The end of the trunk projected over the side of the couch, and the red fluid dripped upon the carpet. “My God!” exclaimed Gaspard. “It is blood!” “So it would seem,” said Nick, quietly. He set the trunk upon the floor and snapped back the lock with a skeleton key. Then he threw open the lid and revealed a mass of excelsior and scraps of newspapers. This being torn away disclosed a dead and ghastly face—the face of unfortunate Corbut, the waiter. Chapter VIII.
Tracing the Trunks Table of Contents Corbut’s body had been cut in two. Only half was in the trunk which Nick had opened. The other half was not, however, far away. It was in the other trunk. Both trunks contained considerable blood, but they had been neatly lined with rubber cloth, apparently taken from a rubber blanket and a man’s heavy waterproof coat. It was so fitted that the trunks, when closed, were water-tight. “The neatest job I ever saw,” said Nick. “Come, Gaspard, tell the story.” “I swear to you,” cried Gaspard, “that I know nothing about it.” At this moment Patsy rapped on the door. He had brought back Harrigan. “Come in!” said Nick; and they both entered. “Holy mother!” shrieked Harrigan, when he saw the open trunks. “So help me, gentlemen, I don’t know nothing about this business. I ain’t in it. I’m tellin’ yer straight. Youse don’t believe I had anything to do wid this, do yer?” “You brought the trunks here,” said Nick. “Lemme tell youse all about it,” cried Harrigan, who was so anxious to tell that he couldn’t talk fast enough. “De French leddy struck me on me old place. You know. Where I was de odder night. “She talked a kind o’ dago, but I tumbled to what she was a-givin’ me. This was about half-past seven o’clock. “‘Meet me,’ says she, ‘in an...