On Death's Trail

CHAPTER I.
AN OPEN QUESTION.

The solitary ray of light that found its way into the dismal room seemed to shrink from entering.

Silence reigned supreme within.

Outside, even the stillness of the night was hardly broken.

It was a ray of moonlight, as feeble through the misty air as "the glowworm's ineffectual fire."

It found its way in, nevertheless, under one broken slat of a closed blind, and then it seemed to hesitate, losing life and shrinking from going farther.

Was there a lost life within?

The ray of light came farther and fell upon only one object in the room. All else was gloom and silence.

It stood near the partly open window and the closed blinds. It was as motionless as a block of stone, as white as a figure of marble, as cold as a form of clay.

Its covering of white hid it entirely from view, had there been eyes to see. It hung in flimsy folds on either side of the narrow, unpillowed bed. Now and then a breath of the night air stirred it, but only as if in mockery, and an observer would have shrunk and shuddered-lest its motion had been imparted by what it covered.

It was the only sign of life amid the gloom and silence.

Suddenly the stillness was broken, but only faintly. It was as if a bell tolled too soon the funeral knell. In some quarter remote from the dismal room, a clock struck the hour-three slow, mellow strokes of the bell.

Three o'clock in the morning.

Five hours afterward, when the November sun had risen into the heavens and dispelled the night mists that had hung over the slow-winding Potomac and the nation's Capitol, a telephone communication sped from the office of the Washington chief of police to a suite in the Willard, in which three persons then were completing their toilets for breakfast.

One was the celebrated New York detective, Nick Carter, and his two companions were his two chief assistants, Chickering Carter and Patsy Garvan.

"I'll answer it, chief," said Patsy, who happened to be the nearest to the room telephone.

"Go ahead," Nick nodded. "Who can want me at this hour? Harold Garland, perhaps, or Senator Barclay, though I can't imagine for what."

"It's Captain Hadley, the chief of police," said Patsy. "He wants to talk with you."

Nick took the receiver and called:

"Hello! What's wanted, Hadley?"

"That you, Nick?"

"Yes."

"How soon can you leave to meet me?"

"Immediately, Hadley, if necessary."

"Do so, then. Meet me as soon as possible, at Herman Fink's undertaking rooms. You know the place. It's where that crook, Andy Margate, who committed suicide when you cornered him last night, was laid out to remain until this morning."

"I know, Hadley, of course," Nick replied. "But what about him?"

"His body is missing."

"Missing!" Nick echoed, amazed.

"Yes. It was stolen in the night. Fink just telephoned me that he cannot find--"

"Enough said, Hadley," Nick interrupted. "We'll see what we can find. I will join you there as soon as possible. I will leave at once."

"Great guns!" Chick exclaimed, after Nick had told him what had occurred. "Margate's body stolen! What's the meaning of that? Are we up against another job in which that miscreant figures?"

"Gee! he'll not cut much of a figure in any kind of a job," said Patsy. "He was dead as a doornail when he was lugged into Fink's back room. I can swear to that, chief, for I saw him stripped, and saw Doctor Nolan view the body. He's the district coroner and ought to know his business. Say, chief, you don't think that that rat has put anything over on us, do you?"

The last came from Patsy when he noticed the serious expression that had settled on Nick's face.

"I hardly think so, though the bare possibility of it occurred to me," Nick replied, hastening to finish his toilet.

"Holy smoke! it don't seem possible."

"Margate was a crafty dog," Nick added. "He knew more than a wooden Indian. No, I don't think, of course, that he can have fooled us."

"Gee! that would be the last straw. I can't believe it."

"The theft of his body, nevertheless, unless it can be traced and proved to have been disposed of in some way is a serious matter."

"Why so, Nick?"

"Because Margate was a dangerous crook. The disappearance of his remains is a thousand times more serious, in view of all of the possibilities involved, than would be that of an ordinary person. If Margate is still alive, incredible though it seems, he again becomes a dangerous menace to society."

"Very true," Chick admitted. "But, great guns, it seems utterly incredible. The undertaker, or surely the physician, would have detected it. Besides, we saw him keel over, toes up, when he swallowed poison, and--"

"Stop a moment," Nick interrupted. "We don't positively know that it was poison. I'm not dead sure of it, now, in view of what has occurred."

"You suspect that it was only a drug?"

"That is possible."

"Something that instantly caused a condition resembling death, but from which he revived later?"

"Such tricks have been turned."

"But--"

"There is nothing in speculation," Nick again interposed. "We'll defer breakfast until we have looked into the matter. There may be evidence that will definitely settle it."

"Let's hope so."

"You had better both go with me," Nick added. "If the body has, indeed, been stolen, we must find a way to trace it and make absolutely sure that there was no monkey business in the death of Andy Margate. I shall not rest easy while any doubts exist concerning the fate of that designing rascal."

It then was eight o'clock, precisely ten hours since Nick Carter and his assistants had rounded up Margate and his three confederates for the murder of Father Cleary, a Roman Catholic priest, and the abduction of Lottie Trent, the girl employed in the war department who had confided to the priest the details of a plot to blackmail Harold Garland, an engineer in the same department, as well as the father of his fiancée, Senator Barclay, both of whom had previously been seriously involved in the theft of secret fortification plans by Margate and a gang of foreign spies, all of whom had been run down by the three detectives.

Cornered by Nick and his assistants the previous night, one of the crooks had been fatally wounded, two of them arrested, and their ringleader, Margate, had committed suicide by swallowing poison from a vial seized from his pocket.

There had appeared to be no reasonable doubt of it. The district medical examiner who viewed the body pronounced the man dead, and ordered the removal of the corpse to the rooms of an undertaker until morning, it then being too late to have it placed in the city morgue, pending the necessary legal steps in such cases.

Thus it occurred that the corpse of Andy Margate, or the supposed corpse, if Nick Carter's present misgivings were warranted, rested that night in the back room of Herman Fink's undertaking establishment, to which Nick and his assistants repaired as quickly as possible after the astounding telephone communication from Captain Hadley that morning.

The chief had just arrived when Nick entered with Chick and Patsy. They found him in the front office, talking with Herman Fink and Doctor Nolan, the coroner who had viewed the body the previous night, and who was solely responsible for the temporary disposal of it in charge of the undertaker.

The ruddy face of Herman Fink, who was a short, corpulent little German, evinced not only his consternation over what had occurred, but also the fact that he was utterly incapable of having connived in any way at the theft of the notorious crook's remains.

"Ah, here is Carter, now," Captain Hadley exclaimed, when the three detectives entered. "Here's a fine mess, Nick, for fair. I have known live crooks to slip through the fingers of the police, but never a dead one. This is the first case on record."

"We have no precedent, then, to serve us as a guide," Nick replied, smiling a bit grimly. "Is there any question, then, as to the theft of the body?"

Herman Fink threw up his pudgy hands and exclaimed, before Chief Hadley could reply:

"Mein Gott! Vot a question? Not der slightest, Mr. Carter, not der slightest. How can there be any question, Der pody is gone, stolen from my pack room, lugged out through der vindow. Come in and see for yourself. Der plinds--"

"One moment," Nick interposed, detaining him. "I will presently make an investigation. I understand, Doctor Nolan, that you were present when Margate's body was brought here last night."

The physician bowed, looking inexpressibly annoyed over what had occurred and evidently feeling that he was in a measure responsible for it.

"I was here, Mr. Carter," he replied. "I remained until after Fink and his assistant had stripped the body and laid it out. It was nearly one o'clock, mind you, which was the only reason why I deferred sending it to the morgue until this morning. A thought of its being stolen did not enter my mind. I would not have believed it possible."

"In view of what has occurred, can you believe it possible that the man was not dead?" Nick asked, a bit dryly.

"Not dead!" Doctor Nolan echoed, with a look of derision. "No, no, certainly not. That is absurd, Mr. Carter. I know that he was dead."

"You feel...