Carter The Suicide, or, Nick Carter and the lost Head

1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-3-98744-740-2
Verlag: OTB eBook publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 89 Seiten

Reihe: Classics To Go

Excerpt: ?Slow down, Danny, and look out for that wire,? said Nick Carter to his chauffeur. ?It may be a live one.? ?I?m onto it, chief.? ?Onto it, eh? Don?t you run onto it while I?m in the car, not if it?s a live one. You may fancy absorbing the output of an electric-lighting plant, but not for mine, Danny, not for mine! I know what it would do to me. I?ve seen men electrocuted.? Danny Maloney laughed, for it was obvious that the famous detective was jesting. ?Onto it with my lamps, chief, is what I meant,? he replied. ?Say what you mean, then,? said Nick, with a smile. ?Precision is one of the valuable assets of a detective. Luckily, however, you are addressing one who can read between the lines?barring those of the ambiguous letter that brought us out here.? ?Can?t you fathom it? It must be mighty blind, chief, if it fools you.? ?On the contrary, Danny, it is perfectly plain?what there is of it,? said Nick dryly. ?A woman, one Mrs. Myra Darling, states that she is in great trouble, that a very devoted friend of mine has advised her to appeal to me, and will I favor her with a call at my earliest convenience.? ?That all?? questioned Danny tersely. ?The whole business,? said Nick. ?Of course, the appeal coming from a woman, I cannot turn it down. Noblesse oblige.? ?You don?t know her?? ?Not from a side of leather. I am acquainted with no Darling woman?suppress that smile, Danny. I know what you are thinking. But all women are not darlings?far from it.? ?This one might be,? said Danny, his smile spreading to a grin.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Carter, Nick

Leseproben

CHAPTER I.
HOW THE END CAME.
“Slow down, Danny, and look out for that wire,” said Nick Carter to his chauffeur. “It may be a live one.” “I’m onto it, chief.” “Onto it, eh? Don’t you run onto it while I’m in the car, not if it’s a live one. You may fancy absorbing the output of an electric-lighting plant, but not for mine, Danny, not for mine! I know what it would do to me. I’ve seen men electrocuted.” Danny Maloney laughed, for it was obvious that the famous detective was jesting. “Onto it with my lamps, chief, is what I meant,” he replied. “Say what you mean, then,” said Nick, with a smile. “Precision is one of the valuable assets of a detective. Luckily, however, you are addressing one who can read between the lines—barring those of the ambiguous letter that brought us out here.” “Can’t you fathom it? It must be mighty blind, chief, if it fools you.” “On the contrary, Danny, it is perfectly plain—what there is of it,” said Nick dryly. “A woman, one Mrs. Myra Darling, states that she is in great trouble, that a very devoted friend of mine has advised her to appeal to me, and will I favor her with a call at my earliest convenience.” “That all?” questioned Danny tersely. “The whole business,” said Nick. “Of course, the appeal coming from a woman, I cannot turn it down. Noblesse oblige.” “You don’t know her?” “Not from a side of leather. I am acquainted with no Darling woman—suppress that smile, Danny. I know what you are thinking. But all women are not darlings—far from it.” “This one might be,” said Danny, his smile spreading to a grin. “That’s neither here nor there,” said Nick, with a laugh. “Not being in the market, Danny, all women look alike to me. Now, the said Mrs. Darling’s trouble may be—ah, but we are near an answer to the momentous question. Yonder is the place, unless I am much mistaken. Stop at the driveway gate. I’ll walk into the grounds. Keep your eye peeled, by the way, while I’m engaged with her ladyship.” The place referred to was out beyond Washington Heights and overlooking the Hudson. It was an attractive estate, without being at all pretentious, as were others in the immediate locality. The grounds flanked a broad street in which electric lighting was being introduced, and from which the house stood back some thirty yards, with a well-kept lawn and a few shade trees. In the rear were a stable and garage, beyond which the land sloped down sharply toward the river. Nick did not wait for an answer from his chauffeur. He sprang from the car while speaking, then walked briskly up the driveway and approached the house, quite a large wooden dwelling of the colonial type. Nick mounted the broad front veranda and rang the bell. It was answered almost immediately by a tall, graceful woman, clad in black, and about thirty years of age. She was of medium complexion, with brown hair and eyes and a finely poised head. Her features were regular, but her face was a strong one, rather than handsome, evincing will power, intellectuality, and a lofty character. She bowed and smiled a bit gravely, saying immediately: “You are Mr. Carter, I think.” “Yes,” said Nick politely. “I am Mrs. Darling. Walk in, please, and come into the library. I am very glad you could comply so soon with my request. It is very good of you.” “I happened to be at liberty this afternoon,” Nick replied, following her into the hall. “I received your letter this morning.” Mrs. Darling conducted him into a prettily furnished library and invited him to be seated. Taking an opposite chair, she then said gravely: “I will take as little as possible of your valuable time. I will tell you with few and simple words, Mr. Carter, why I have sent for you.” “Cover all of the ground, Mrs. Darling,” Nick suggested. “My time just now is at your disposal.” “Thank you,” she replied, bowing. “I will in that case begin at the beginning. I was married eight years ago to Mr. Cyrus Darling, a New York tobacco dealer, a man whom I have always supposed had considerable means, though he has never informed me definitely. He owned this place, however, and we have always lived well, and he has provided for me generously.” “Mr. Darling is not living?” “No. I will explain presently.” “Continue.” “I was nearly twenty years younger than he, Mr. Carter, but our married life was a uniformly happy one, though not as gay and festive as he perhaps would have preferred. I am inclined to be domestic, while he was of a volatile nature, having neither a strong or stable character. I frankly admit, Mr. Carter, that he was subservient to my will and wishes.” “I understand you,” said Nick. “I have no children, and I keep only two servants, aside from a chauffeur, whom I occasionally employ,” Mrs. Darling continued. “My husband’s habits were good, as the world goes, and I noticed nothing unusual in his conduct until about three months ago.” “And then?” “I then thought he appeared strangely reticent, at times very self-absorbed and less frank and affectionate than before. I asked him whether there was anything wrong, but he assured me to the contrary, though he seemed a bit irritated because I questioned him.” “I follow you.” “Later, Mr. Carter, he appeared quite despondent, and I feared that his business troubled him. He said that my fears were groundless, and that his business was never better. He went from bad to worse. He said very little at home, and remained in town evenings much more frequently than in years past, which I attributed to his seeming depression and his desire to find relief in the excitement and diversions of the city.” “Did you occasionally accompany him?” Nick inquired. “Very seldom. He did not seem inclined to have me do so.” “Was he addicted to drink?” “Only moderately. I never saw him intoxicated, nor anything like it.” “Proceed.” “About two weeks ago, Mr. Carter, he decided to sell his business, saying that he was sick of it and would try something else. I remonstrated with him, telling him that he was making a mistake, and that it is not easy for a man over fifty to make such changes profitably.” “That is very true, Mrs. Darling.” “It had no effect upon him, however, and he let the business go,” she replied, sadly shaking her head. “During the following week he was at home part of each day, but he spent most of the afternoons and evenings in town. On Tuesday, one week ago yesterday, he appeared unusually nervous and depressed. I missed him soon after lunch, and supposed he had gone into town. I had an appointment with my dentist and was absent from two o’clock until nearly six. When I returned home—well, Mr. Carter, the end had come.” “You mean?” questioned Nick gravely. “My husband had committed suicide—or was the victim of foul play.” “H’m, I see!” Nick drew up in his chair. “Were you in any uncertainty at that time, Mrs. Darling, as to the cause of his death?” “No, not at that time, Mr. Carter,” she quickly informed him. “I know what you have in mind—that I should have called in the police immediately. I did not then, however, nor at any time until yesterday, have even a thought of anything but suicide. The circumstances suggested nothing else.” “What were the circumstances, Mrs. Darling?” Nick inquired. “State them briefly.” “There is very little to tell,” she rejoined. “My husband was last seen alive by one of my servants. She saw him going out of the back door of the house and around the stable, and she supposed he was going down to our boathouse, which was on the river bank and out of view from here, owing to the sharp slope of the land.” “I see,” said Nick, glancing from the window. “Soon after, Mr. Carter, the boathouse was seen to be on fire. It contained a motor boat and considerable gasoline, which caused it to burn very rapidly. It was completely destroyed. In the ruins were found the remains of my husband, little more than a charred skeleton, from which the flesh was almost entirely burned.” Mrs. Darling paused to dry her eyes, maintaining with an effort her outward composure. Appreciating her feelings, Nick waited a few moments and then inquired: “Are you sure, Mrs. Darling, that his death was not due to an accident?” “Positively,” she replied. “To begin with, Mr. Carter, he left this letter on the chiffonier in my bedroom. You may read it.” She took it from the library table while speaking and tendered it to the detective. Nick read it, the following few lines written with pen and ink. “My Dear Myra: Forgive me for the step I am going to take. I am driven to it by feelings I cannot describe. I am sick and tired of the whole business—of life itself. I am going to end it. Forgive and forget me. “Cyrus.”
Nick replaced the letter on the table, saying considerately: “There seems, indeed, to be no reasonable doubt of Mr. Darling’s intentions. You recognize the writing, I infer.” “Yes, surely,” she replied. “Furthermore, Mr. Carter, there were found in the ruins numerous articles that positively identify my husband’s remains. They included the buttons on his garments, which were entirely consumed; also his pocketknife, his false teeth, and a plain gold...