CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE ELDER JARVIS.

Although the adventure had not turned out as satisfactorily as he could have wished, Nick felt that he had made some gain toward getting at the truth with regard to the identity of Howard Milmarsh.

The conspirators knew that they were watched, and whether this young man whom they seemed to be leading by the nose was the real heir or not, they had been made aware that they would not have it all their own way without investigation by other parties.

It was while they were removing the make-up and costumes they had worn in the characters of the two Howard Milmarshes that Carter and his assistant discussed the probability of this being the actual young Howard, after all.

“The preponderance of evidence is on his side, I must confess,” declared Nick, as he finished dressing in his own clothes, after removing all the grease paint and false hair from his face, as well as the iron-gray wig he had worn as the elder Milmarsh. “He looks like Howard, has the same voice, and certainly fights like him.”

“And yet you can’t quite believe in him?”

“Not quite. If only the Howard Milmarsh who is sick in the Universal Hospital would get well, there would be little trouble in deciding positively whether he or this one who has possession of the place is the true one. It is a curious case—and as puzzling a one as I ever attacked.”

“What are we going to do now?” asked Chick.

“You are right, Chick,” smiled his chief. “That is getting right down to business. Well, I think we’ll go back to the Old Pike Inn and get some sleep. There will be a busy day for us to-morrow.”

“All days are busy—especially since we took up this Howard Milmarsh case,” observed Chick, smiling.

“That’s true. Well, come on, and don’t make a noise as you move along. There are listening ears on the other side of the wall, remember.”

They made their way out of the Milmarsh mansion without discovery, and in due time reached the Old Pike Inn, where they went to bed and slept till the morning was fairly well advanced.

Indeed, they were still at breakfast in the private dining room into which Captain Brown had led them, so that none of the other guests should see them, when the captain came in and told them that Thomas Jarvis was in the office and wanted to see Mr. Carter.

“Thomas Jarvis! Do you mean Richard Jarvis’ father?”

“Yes. He has been living here in the inn for a month past. He must have seen you come in or go out, and recognized you. Those raincoats and caps are pretty good, but a man who knows you and could get a good look at your face would know you in spite of them.”

“Well, you may as well show him in here,” answered Nick. “I believe I know what he is after.”

In ten minutes Thomas Jarvis had visited the detective, told his story, and been dismissed. He had come to say that, as Howard Milmarsh had not appeared to claim the property of his late father, it came automatically to the Jarvis branch, and as he, Thomas, was the only living Jarvis, of course it was his.

“You know that Howard Milmarsh _has_ appeared, and that he is living in the Milmarsh residence at this very time?” asked Carter.

“I know that a man calling himself Howard Milmarsh is there,” was the reply.

“You don’t believe he is the real man, then?”

“I didn’t say so.”

“Your tone said it,” was the detective’s rejoinder.

“Do you believe he is the real Howard Milmarsh?” asked Thomas Jarvis.

“Unless another one should turn up with a better claim, I have no right to doubt it.”

“Well, I more than doubt it,” declared Jarvis roughly. “I am the heir at law of this property, and I’m going to have it.”

“I wish you luck,” returned Nick.

With the exception of formal “Good mornings!” that was all of the interview, and Thomas Jarvis retired.

“This puts a new twist into the case,” laughed Nick, when the door closed. “Is it not strange that, with a great fortune like the Milmarsh estate, to say nothing of the wonderful steel-manufacturing business that goes with it, there should be at least one claimant outside of these two Howard Milmarshes. But I wouldn’t give much for Thomas Jarvis’ chance.”

“He’s the fellow who killed his son accidentally, isn’t he?” asked Chick.

“Not so bad as that, although Richard Jarvis was killed while quarreling with his father. He stumbled over something as he was about to strike his father, and fell, with his head against an iron fender. If he were still alive, I suppose he would be claiming to be Howard Milmarsh’s heir.”

“Are we going back to New York to-day?” asked Chick.

“Yes. There is nothing to be done here. Until we can bring the poor fellow in the Universal to his senses, I don’t see much hope of coming to a decision. And that may never be, according to one of the nurses who has been watching the patient.”

“Doctor Grayson doesn’t say so, does he?”

“The doctor is away from the city, unfortunately. He has been called to attend a wealthy and influential patient of his in Chicago. But he’ll be in New York to-morrow, I’m told, and then I may obtain some dependable information.”

But the detective and Chick did not go to New York that day. Circumstances arose to prevent them of a nature that neither had anticipated.

They were still in the room in which they had breakfasted and had their interview with Thomas Jarvis, when Captain Brown, after a hasty knock, burst into the room with excitement flaming out all over him.

“Carter! What do you think?”

“I don’t know. What is it?”

“They’re here!” spluttered the captain.

“Who? What’s the trouble?”

“The Paradise City people!”

“Upon my word, I don’t know what you’re driving at, Captain Brown,” returned Nick, somewhat impatiently. “Who are the Paradise City people?”

Captain Brown had cooled down a little by this time, and he took a seat and fanned himself with his hat for a few moments, as he pointed to the window.

Chick stepped over and looked out.

“Well, what’s broken loose?”

Before he could answer, there was another knock at the door. In quick response to the detective’s “Come in!” a young man, also in considerable excitement, surged into the apartment.

The young man was Patsy Garvan!

“Say, chief, I been wanting to get to you, but I thought I’d better wait till I knew you’d want me.”

“Well?”

“There’s going to be merry hilltop to pay at Milmarsh’s to-day, and we ought to get busy, or there won’t be any house for Howard Milmarsh to take when he does prove his rights.”

“What do you know about it, Patsy?” put in Chick. “I see a big mob of people going up the road—men and women—and they look ugly.”

“They are ugly. See that big fellow at the head of the procession in a blue sweater? Know who he is?”

Chick peered harder at the disorderly gathering making its way up the winding road toward the gates of the Milmarsh estate. But the big man had gone too far for sure recognition.

“Looks as if it might be Bonesy Billings!” said Chick. “It’s about his build, and I know he has bought property in the Paradise City place.”

“You’ve hit it, Chick,” nodded Patsy. “It is Bonesy, and he’s hotter’n the inside of a coke oven. He’s got on to the fact that this isn’t any more than a swamp, and he’s come up here to have it out with the guys that sold him the plot.”

“How about the manager and his men at the office in New York, Patsy?” asked Nick.

“The office is busted up and the men are gone. I’m told they only hired the furniture there, so they didn’t have to move it. They paid up everything in the way of rent and for the furniture two days ago, and beat it for—for—Paradise, I guess,” laughed Patsy.

“They paid up everything, you say?”

“Everything about the office. You can bet they were slick enough to do that. They didn’t want to have any more publicity than they could help. If they’d tried to beat the office rent or the furniture hire, they’d have been followed up here to Milmarsh, and that would have meant a fuss for the other guys who are living high in that big house on the hill.”

“You mean the Milmarsh residence?” asked Captain Brown.

“Sure, that’s what I mean,” replied Patsy. “It’s the only big house on a hill around here that I know anything about. Gee! Look at that bunch going up the road. There’s nearly a hundred of them.”

“And women among them,” remarked Captain Brown.

“Sure! That’s what’s going to make it so hard on the other side. The women have helped to save the money that’s gone into that phony real-estate, and they’re going to get back their coin or bust somebody. You can bet your bottom dollar on that!”

“Who is at the back of all this swindle?” asked Captain Brown. “Do you know, Carter?”

“I know only what is apparent to everybody,” was the detective’s answer. “The property is on the Milmarsh estate, and there is a Howard Milmarsh living on it at present. The advertisements of Paradise City say that the long-lost heir is back to his own, and that he means to give people of limited means an opportunity to find homes in the country. You’ve seen the booklets, haven’t you, captain?”

“Yes, but I thought you might know something more than they made public. Advertisements are splendid things in their way, and as a rule they are truthful. But exaggeration will creep into them occasionally, and often there are details which the writer of the advertisement forgot to put in.”

“That’s what Bonesy Billings says,” remarked Patsy. “He told me that coming up on the train.”

“Oh, you came up from New York with this crowd, then?” asked Nick.

“Yes—those that came from New York. Some of ’em live at places along the railroad. There’s a bunch from Yonkers, for instance, and others from the Bronx. But they are all here.”

“How was it worked up?” asked Chick, smiling, for he knew Patsy had the whole matter in his head.

“They’ve been having meetings for more than a week,” explained Patsy. “I heard about them two days ago, and I’ve been to two of the meetings. They were hot stuff, I’m telling you. Some of the speakers were in favor of coming up here with dynamite bombs and blowing everything to blazes.”

“You mean the Milmarsh house?” queried Captain Brown.

“I mean everything up here. The Old Pike Inn was to go, too, because some of them say it harbors men who are mixed up in this swindle to rob poor people of their savings.”

“Is that so?” exclaimed Captain Brown, more interested than ever. “Look here, Carter! We can’t let this go on! We’ll have to take a hand in it. You will go up to the house with me, won’t you?”

“I intended to go up there,” was the quiet reply. “Can we use your big motor car?”

“Of course. I’ll have it got ready at once. Then we can take a roundabout way and get to the house before the mob.”

“That was what I calculated on,” returned the detective.

Captain Brown hustled out of the room to order his car, while Nick gazed out of the window at the excited mob of both sexes on their way to the Milmarsh mansion.

“We shall have to save the property at all events, Chick,” he remarked, without turning around. “The rightful heir must not have his place destroyed before he has time to settle down.”

“Have you found the rightful heir, chief?” asked Patsy Garvan eagerly.

“I believe I have,” was the detective’s calm reply.