CHAPTER XXXII.

MURDER WILL OUT.

When Thomas Jarvis, with a grim expression on his tightly closed lips, came into the room, there was a look of curiosity on the faces of both Louden Powers and Andrew Lampton.

The man who had been called Howard Milmarsh was the only person in the large circle about the massive mahogany table who seemed not to be interested. He was sitting opposite Nick Carter, his head bent forward, so that his chin almost rested on his chest, and his eyes fixed vacantly upon the table.

“Now that we are all here, you may go,” said the detective, dismissing the two menservants.

“Don’t we have anything to drink?” asked Louden Powers. “Or is this to be a dry session?”

“We won’t drink,” replied Nick. “But I don’t think it will be so very dry. We shall see.”

He did not say anything more until Dobbs and Kelly had withdrawn. Then he made a motion to his assistant, Chick, who locked the door and handed the key to his chief.

“Now, Mr. Jarvis, we’ll hear you first,” announced Carter. “What are you here for?”

“I’m here to take possession of my property,” replied Jarvis. “I have had my attorney go through all the necessary legal forms, and I demand that you all leave this house forthwith.”

Louden Powers and Andrew Lampton laughed aloud, and even Chick and Patsy indulged in a quiet smile.

“I don’t think there is anything to be said about that, Mr. Jarvis, except to inform you that Howard Milmarsh is here, and that therefore your claim is nothing at all. Your attorney should have known that.”

“I’m my own attorney!” snapped Jarvis. “I have been a lawyer long enough to know my rights.”

“Your knowledge of law may be fairly good—very good,” returned the detective. “But the action of law must be based on sound facts, and it seems as if you have overlooked them. I tell you that Howard Milmarsh is here to claim his inheritance.”

“You mean that man at the table?” barked Jarvis. “_He_ is not Howard Milmarsh.”

“You’re wrong,” interposed Louden Powers. “That’s just who he is.”

Billings had been gazing curiously at the man Powers pointed to, and who still sat with bent head, taking no part in the proceedings, and seeming hardly to know that he was there.

Nick Carter understood what was passing in the big truckman’s mind.

“There are things that seem to you contradictory, Billings,” said Nick, as their eyes met for a moment. “I will explain to you later. You will find that I told you the truth.”

Bonesy Billings shook his head in an embarrassed way, as he answered hastily:

“I hadn’t no thought of nothing else, Mr. Carter. But I saw that gentleman over there, and I didn’t know what it meant.”

“Now, that is all I have to say,” interrupted Jarvis. “This is my house, and I should like to have it to myself. In the absence of any other legal heir, I am the owner. The property passes all to me, as next of kin. My son would have inherited it had he lived. But he died.”

“He was killed!” suddenly thundered Nick. “He was struck down by a champagne bottle. There are witnesses to prove it. I have one of them in this room——”

“Now, Carter!” interrupted Captain Brown, jumping to his feet. “You have kept that quiet all these years. Why should——”

“I’ll tell you why, Captain Brown,” broke in the detective. “There is an effort on the part of Thomas Jarvis to rob the owner of this property of his rights, and I am obliged to say what I do, in the interests of justice.”

“Justice?”

It was Louden Powers and Andrew Lampton who uttered this word in unison in an apprehensive tone. There seemed to be something about it that grated on their sensibilities.

Thomas Jarvis was sitting stiff in his chair, his eyes fixed upon Nick Carter’s face, while he tried to mumble some protest.

“I intended to keep this a secret to the end, because I have always felt that the slayer of Richard Jarvis had great provocation, and doubtless was carried away by the excitement of the moment to do a deed that he has been remorseful for ever since.”

“Didn’t it come out at the time?” asked Bonesy Billings. “Murders don’t often get away from the police in these days.”

“You’re right, Billings. I don’t suppose this would have been hushed up if a person who—who has some influence had not prevented all the facts becoming known.”

“I’d let it go at that, if I were you, Carter,” pleaded Captain Brown, his usually bronzed face a grayish white. “There’s no sense in raking up such a thing as this.”

“Yes, there is,” rejoined Nick. “Jarvis here has challenged me, and I will take it up. He claims this property is——”

“It is mine,” put in Jarvis doggedly.

“Because your son is dead?”

“Yes.”

“And when you knew that Howard Milmarsh had run away from this part of the country, you figured that he never would dare return, and that your son Richard would be the heir.”

“You can say what you like. The property is mine,” growled Jarvis, as if determined to stick to one idea.

“If your son Richard were to die, it would leave you the next of kin, so far as legal forms go. Therefore, it might be to your interest if Richard were to be put out of the world. He was not really your son, you know, but your stepson.”

“How did you know that?” demanded Jarvis, half rising. “It isn’t true, anyhow.”

“Oh, yes, it is. I can prove it, if necessary,” was the detective’s answer. “You knew that Howard Milmarsh the elder was in poor health. You had learned that his doctor gave him only a few more months of life, and predicted that he would die suddenly. All that was part of your knowledge.”

“I don’t care to stay here any longer,” abruptly declared Thomas Jarvis, rising to his feet. “I will go. But there will be proper officers here during the day to eject the rascals who are trying to steal my estate. Good morning!”

But the door was locked and the key in Nick Carter’s pocket.

“Better sit down till I have finished speaking,” he advised coolly. “I do not intend to let you leave this room until I am ready.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell the rest of my story, and then you can answer your own question. You will know what I mean.”

“Rot!”

Thomas Jarvis resumed his seat and stared at the detective. Those about the table observed that he seemed to have grown very much older in the last minute or two. His eyes had become dull, his jaw sagged, and he did not appear to be as truculent as he had been when he came into the room.

“The truth is,” went on Nick, “that you killed your son Richard in a quarrel, in the Old Pike Inn——”

“Carter!” protested Captain Brown. “This will ruin my house!”

“You knocked him down with a champagne bottle, as he came toward you to strike you. He fell flat, with his head against the corner of the iron fender. But the blow against the fender was a trifle. It glanced and hardly cut the skin. The stroke that killed him was delivered by the champagne bottle in your hand!”

Bonesy Billings, Captain Brown, Louden Powers, and Lampton were all on their feet, in their excitement. The man who was supposed to be Howard Milmarsh and Thomas Jarvis were the only persons who remained in their chairs. Chick and Patsy had both arisen, as if to prevent any demonstration by Powers or Lampton.

“Sit down!” commanded the detective. “There is nothing to be done. The man who killed Richard Jarvis cannot escape.”

The others dropped into their seats again. The two crooks showed more terror than had been in their faces since first they knew Carter was in the house. If this shrewd, deep-seeing detective could wind the toils so easily about Thomas Jarvis for a crime committed years ago, why would he not put them in cells for offenses of yesterday, as it were?

Both Louden Powers and Andrew Lampton were uneasy. It is true that the latter had practically a promise of safety if he delivered T. Burton Potter into the hands of the detective. But he was not prepared to produce Potter except as a last resort to keep himself out of prison.

As for Louden Powers, he was a bold scoundrel, and he intended to make a desperate fight to get away if he found Carter and his men closing in on him. Only, he wished he were not locked in a room like this, with the odds in numbers against him.

“There’s Carter and his two men,” he mused. “Captain Brown, I guess, and that big Billings. That would be five against one—for I don’t suppose I could count on that weak-kneed Lampton. He has some sort of pull on the detective. I wouldn’t mind betting he’s a ‘squealer.’”

“Now, Mr. Jarvis,” continued Nick. “You have forced me to take this action. If you had not attempted to cash in your crime, I should have been inclined to let it rest in the oblivion to which you thought it consigned. The fact that you have compelled me to remind you of it, in the presence of these witnesses, emphasizes the world-old truth that ‘murder will out.’ What have you to say?”

There was no answer. Thomas Jarvis’ gaze was fixed on the opposite wall, and he had slumped curiously down in his large armchair.

“Look here, Carter,” broke in Captain Brown again. “You don’t have to drag me into this.”

“You were a witness,” replied Nick coldly. “As a good citizen, your duty is to tell the truth—if you are asked.”

It has been remarked already that Captain Brown was a business man. He thought more of the Old Pike Inn and its reputation than anything else on earth probably. He groaned at this suggestion.

“Chief!” suddenly shouted Chick.

He and Patsy rushed to Thomas Jarvis simultaneously. But they were not in time to prevent his slipping to the floor.

Half a minute later, Nick, on one knee by the side of the prostrate man, with a finger on the stilled pulse, looked up and said solemnly:

“You need not worry about being called on to testify, Captain Brown. The matter will never come up.”

“Is he dead?”

The response of the detective was to reverently cover the face of Thomas Jarvis with his own handkerchief.