CHAPTER XIV.

THE STOLEN IDENTITY.

It was several weeks after the arrest of Jimmy Duryea that Nick Carter one morning laid aside the newspaper he had been reading and gave his attention to the hearty breakfast that had just been put before him. He made no remark, although Chick, who was seated at the table at his right, and Patsy Garvan, his second assistant, who was at his left, and Adelina—the wife of Patsy—who was opposite him, all raised their eyes inquiringly to his face, as if they had confidently expected some sort of a statement from their chief.

But the detective ate his breakfast in silence; and the three persons who were closest to him in point of intimacy respected that silence, and preserved it on their own several parts.

Never, in the house of Nick Carter, had there been a more wordless meal.

The two assistants knew what their chief was thinking about; Adelina’s intuitiveness made her aware of Nick Carter’s desire for silence. All knew that presently, when he had thoroughly digested the thoughts induced by the reading of that article in the paper, he would say something upon the subject that so strangely interested each of them.

But he had pushed away the breakfast things and had carefully selected a cigar from his case, before he broke that unusual silence; and then he said, addressing no one in particular, but all of them generally:

“I don’t care a hang what that supreme court judge says, or how much proof has been brought to sustain the contention of Bare-Faced Jimmy; not a hang. I know that the man is Bare-Faced Jimmy Duryea, otherwise Howard Drummond, and what is more, I am going to chuck everything else aside until I have proved it. I won’t let that fellow beat me.”

Chick and Patsy glanced across the table at each other, and nodded. Adelina replied:

“Nobody has ever supposed that you would permit such a thing,” she said.

“The thing about it that hurts,” said Nick, “is the fact that my testimony and all that Nan Nightingale swore to, went for nothing. I wonder if that judge thinks me a fool? One would suppose that my reputation would stand for something; and yet—— Listen to this paragraph from the learned opinion.”

The detective seized the paper, and read aloud:

“‘It is one of the most remarkable cases of mistaken identity that has ever been brought to the attention of this court. The testimony of Nicholas Carter, the detective, of his assistant, and of Miss Nancy Nightingale, would seem to be conclusive, if the evidence they gave were not so entirely overwhelmed by the voluminous testimony in contradiction. But where a whole community comes forward, as in this instance, and offers what must stand as irrefutable testimony concerning the identity of the appellant, Mr. Ledger Dinwiddie, the duty of the court is obvious. Men and women of advanced years, who have known Ledger Dinwiddie since his birth, swear to his identity—and there can be no gainsaying them. Men and women of approximately his own age, who knew him in his childhood and youth, who attended school with him, swear to his identity—and there can be no question of their entire sincerity. A negro woman who nursed him in his babyhood, and who watched him grow to young manhood, swears to his identity, and demonstrates her fondness for him, now—and her love for him speaks in his favor even stronger than her words. On the other hand, the proof offered, establishing the death of the man called James Duryea, seems incontrovertible. There is only one conclusion at which this court can arrive, namely, that Ledger Dinwiddie has sufficiently established his identity.

“‘The judgment of the lower court is affirmed.

“‘All concur.’”

“Now, what do you think of that?” the detective asked, turning his glance from one to another of his companions at the table.

“It sounds to me,” replied Patsy, who was always plainspoken and who was apt to call things by their right names, “as if the judge meant to let you down as easily as possible, chief, but that he evidently believes you to be one of two things; a——”

“A liar, or a jackass,” Nick interrupted his second assistant.

“Well, that is putting it rather strong, chief. I didn’t mean to say exactly that. In the first part of that lengthy opinion, he cites case after case of mistaken identity, and tries to show that he hasn’t the slightest doubt of your sincerity; but all the same he implies that your zeal has got the better of your judgment—and that is what hurts most, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” replied Nick, nodding.

“Anyhow,” said Chick, smiling a bit grimly, “Jimmy seems to be on top at the present moment. He has established his legal right to the name of Dinwiddie; he has placed on record, legally, the death of Bare-Faced Jimmy Duryea. He has won out.”

“For the present—yes.”

“But,” volunteered Adelina, “there is still the charge against him of the theft of the diamond necklace, and the other jewels; and there is the unpleasant fact that he posed as a single man, and affianced himself to Lenore Remsen from whom he stole the necklace, when all the time he was a married man. That——”

Nick Carter shrugged his shoulders so significantly that Adelina stopped. Then she asked:

“What will he do about those charges?”

“He will manage to slip away from them,” replied the detective; “and, for the present, I am quite content to let him do so. In fact, I would rather he would succeed, for the moment.”

“Isn’t it an unfortunate circumstance,” asked Patsy, “that the Remsens should have started away for an unlimited stay in Europe, the moment after they had given their testimony?”

“Yes; and no. The additional testimony they might have given would have done little or no good to our side of the case; at least, it would not have injured Jimmy. He would have succeeded in establishing himself just as firmly as he has now done, if they had remained. And, when all is said, one cannot blame them for wishing to get out of the country. It isn’t a very pleasant experience for people in their position to have had their only daughter engaged to be married to a man who is even suspected of having been the sort of crook that Bare-Faced Jimmy was, to say nothing of the fact that he was already married.”

“I suppose that is why Theodore Remsen came out in that interview in the paper and stated over his own signature that the report of his daughter’s engagement to Jimmy was all a mistake; was not true, and that there had never been the slightest foundation for the report.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t you do the same under like circumstances?”

“I don’t know but I would, at that.”

“We will not concern ourselves about that part of the affair,” said the detective. “It is not vital to what I wish to accomplish in this matter, whether Jimmy posed as a single man or not, or whether he became engaged to Lenore Remsen, while he already had a wife living, or not. It is not particularly vital whether he stole those jewels, or not—save only from one standpoint.”

“What is that one?” Adelina asked him.

“That one standpoint is Nan Nightingale,” replied the detective.

The others were silent and waited for the detective to proceed with what he was saying.

“The fact of the matter is right here,” Nick continued. “Up there at the Remsen residence—The Birches—all of Nan’s previous history was brought out. She confessed it all herself. She was all right after that confession—so far as those who were present and heard it are concerned; but she was not, and is not, all right in the estimation of thousands of others who have had only the reports in the newspapers to direct their thought.”

“I see,” said Adelina.

“Aside from those who were present in that house at the time of the finding of the jewels, when I put the irons on Jimmy, nine out of ten people believe to this day that Nan Nightingale knew more about the disappearance of that necklace and the other jewels than any other person. So you see for Nan’s sake, if for no other, the fact that Ledger Dinwiddie is not Ledger Dinwiddie, but is really Bare-Faced Jimmy, must be established. It is the only thing that can be done to set her right, for, in doing it, we also prove that he was, unquestionably, the thief.”

Patsy got upon his feet and crossed to the window. He stood there for a moment and then turned about, delivering himself of an opinion which was by no means original, since it has been voiced since time immemorial by thousands of others. He said:

“I’m no lawyer, and I’m glad that I am not; but I do want to say this: I think that many of the rules practiced in a court, governing the admission of evidence, are far from right.”

“Why?” asked the detective, smiling.

“Because, as in this affair, every bit of testimony we relied on relating to the engagement between Lenore Remsen and Jimmy was ruled out; every question that Jimmy was asked relating to this wife of his, who is said to have been a countess, or a duchess, or something of the sort, was ruled out. We don’t know a thing about that, officially.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, Chick, or you, Patsy, to ask who and what that woman, who is now Jimmy’s wife, has been in the past?”

“It had not—until this moment,” confessed Chick.

“I thought of her only as another possible victim of Jimmy’s,” said Patsy.

“Well,” said the detective slowly, “in my opinion you will find that she is a product of the underworld, just as Jimmy is one. This whole thing was a conspiracy planned and hatched between those two. This wife consented to leave him, for the time being, that there might be no obstacle in the way of his marrying the millions that Lenore Remsen would have brought to him.

“After Jimmy had succeeded in getting his clutches upon the aforesaid millions by divorcing the wife who has been called Juno, and marrying Lenore for her money, Lenore would have been put out of the way quietly, and then Jimmy and Juno would have come together again to remarry and enjoy the great fortune which could be obtained only by sacrificing the life and happiness of a sweet girl.”

“Gee, Nick!” said Chick. “If I thought that——”

“I think it, Chick; and it is because I think it, and also for the sake of Nan Nightingale, that I am determined to search this affair to the bottom and to explore the whole rotten business.

“The weak point in Jimmy’s case is the woman, Juno,” said Nick.

“Just how do you mean that?” Chick asked his chief.

“I’ll give you a left-handed answer to that question,” replied the detective. “I am not going to waste my time in trying to search out what Jimmy has done and where he has been since he was supposed to have died on that island in the Sound.”

“Why not?”

“Because the chances are about ten thousand to one that Jimmy has covered up his tracks so thoroughly that there would be no tracing him. He’s an adept at that sort of thing, as you know.”

“Yes.”

“There never was a craftier villain on earth than Jimmy; there never was a more far-seeing one; there never was a man so well adapted to throwing others off the scent as Jimmy has proved himself to be ever since I have known anything about him.”

“Well?”

“And, to begin with, we already know that salient fact about him and his present situation; but the point is, we cannot prove anything.”

“I know.”

“So does he know. And all the time he is laughing in his sleeve at us. He knows that we know—and he doesn’t care a rap.”

“That is true enough.”

“And why? Simply because he knows also that we cannot establish evidence that would be upheld in a court of law. That has been tried. Jimmy has ceased to be Jimmy and has become Dinwiddie. His position from that point is unassailable.”

“I guess you are right about that.”

“But, Chick, there never yet was a fortress so impregnable that it did not have its one weak spot; just as the speed of a fleet is determined by the slowest vessel in it, so is the strength of a fort established by its weakest spot; and so is the invulnerability of evidence made vulnerable.”

“And you look upon this woman, Juno, as being the weak spot in the armor?”

“Precisely.”

“Have you ever seen her?”

“Not that I know of. The name means nothing, suggests nothing, to me; but a name is of no importance.”

“No; the woman may have had a dozen names.”

“Well, Chick, I am going to look up that woman. The very circumstance of her being so decidedly in the background just now, when Jimmy was trying to marry that little Remsen girl, assures me that Juno was as deeply concerned in the plot, as Jimmy. If she was as deep in the mud as he was in the mire of it, it follows as naturally as two-plus-two, that Juno not only knew Jimmy before she married him, but that she had lived the same sort of life as he had. I’m going after that woman.”

“At once?”

“Yes. I’m going to leave Jimmy severely alone and trace the woman; but, first, I’ve got to see her; to have a look at her; to make a sketch of her face.”

“What am I to do in the case, Nick?”

“I’m going to give you the part that is really most difficult, because it will be less likely to be productive of results,” replied the detective.

“Well?”

“I’m going to send you out on Jimmy’s track. I want you to start at the island.”

Chick nodded.

“I understand,” he said. “You want me to go there and see what can be found concerning the supposed death and burial of Jimmy.”

“Exactly. When the time comes to bring forward the proofs which I am confident that we shall find—the stronger we are in that quarter the better it will be for us.”

“I see. I’m to keep on that lay, no matter whether I succeed in digging up anything or not.”

“Exactly. Patsy will go with you and assist you.”

“You mean that you will work alone?”

“Not entirely alone. I think I will call upon Nan for assistance. But I want you and Chick to bear in mind just one thing.”

“What is that?”

“No matter what comes to the office in the way of cases, everything is to be turned down and put aside until this one is finished. Every energy of this office, yours, Patsy’s, and mine, is to be devoted to putting Bare-Faced Jimmy behind the bars. Understand that?”

“Yes. Thoroughly.”

“Well, with that understanding, go ahead. Be your own master. Do as you want to do. Do not wait to ask a question of me. I shall go away this afternoon. I won’t be back here in this office until I have solved this case and am ready to put Jimmy where he belongs. It may take me six days, and it may take me six months—but if it takes me a year to do it, it shall be done just the same.”

It was only a few hours later when Nick Carter was seated in the parlor of the little apartment which Nan Nightingale called home, in Riverside Drive, and presently Nan entered the room and hurried toward him with extended hand.

“I know what has brought you here, Mr. Carter,” she said, as she took a seat opposite him. “I have read the morning papers containing the report of that decision—and also an edition of one of the afternoon papers, which is just out. I was finishing that article just as you were announced.”

“Something in one of the afternoon papers?” returned Nick. “What is that? I have not seen it.”

“I have it here. I will show it to you in a moment. Don’t you think it is a remarkable thing that Jimmy should so thoroughly have established himself that he was able to satisfy the court that he is Ledger Dinwiddie and has not been Bare-Faced Jimmy?”

“Remarkable? Of course it is remarkable. It only goes to show what a thorough plotter the fellow is. He had prepared himself for every emergency before he started on this affair.”

“Yes. He was not so far wrong when he defied you up there at The Birches, was he?”

“No; and he did defy me, too. He said that he could prove that he was Dinwiddie, even while he did not hesitate to admit to me that he was Jimmy. But what about that article in the afternoon paper? Tell me about that.”

“Shall I tell you about it, or would you prefer to read it for yourself?”

“Tell me about it. I am satisfied that you have gleaned all there is in it.”

“Oh, it isn’t much; only one of Jimmy’s old tricks.”

“Old tricks? How is that?”

“Why, he has condescended to permit a reporter to interview him—about his wife.”

“Ah! There ought to be some meat in that—for me.”

“I think there is. That is why I was so interested in it.”

“Tell me about it.”

“There is more than a column and a half in the story that the reporter tells about the interview.”

“Yes? Well?”

“The account starts in by giving a resumé of the case. It tells how Mr. Ledger Dinwiddie, the last of his race, broken in fortune, land-poor, left his home in despair before he was seventeen, and had never been heard of since then until a short time ago, when he suddenly reappeared, bringing with him a beautiful wife.”

“Yes.”

“It tells how old friends of the family would never permit the lands of the Dinwiddies to be sold for taxes, and how Jimmy paid up the interest on the mortgages when he returned, and paid off the taxes. Then it recites the remarkable case of his being mistaken for a criminal, and how readily he proved that he was not—and goes into quite a long explanation of a distant relationship existing between that dead criminal and Ledger Dinwiddie, which accounts for the resemblance.”

“Oh, yes. Never mind all that, Nan. Get down to the part about the wife. That is what interests me most just now.”

“In the interview Jimmy explains to the reporter that the alleged engagement between him and Miss Remsen was in the nature of a joke. He admits that there was some foundation for the report, but says it was given out at the request of Miss Remsen herself—and, by the way, there is a printed cablegram from Theodore Remsen which says that the stated version of it is substantially correct.”

“Of course Remsen would say that. It lets him down easy and stops gossip. Go on.”

“The impression that Jimmy succeeds in giving is to the effect that Lenore Remsen’s father wanted her to marry a man she did not admire—whose name is not mentioned.”

“Naturally, since there was no such man. But, go on.”

“And that it was a put-up job between Jimmy and Lenore that they should pretend to be in love with each other in order that she might escape the other man. That is all there is to it, save that Jimmy speaks at length about his wife, whom he calls Juno.”

“Yes. Well, that is the part of it that I want to hear.”

“He says that soon after he left his home in Virginia he made the acquaintance of the young woman, who is now his wife. That he fell in love with her at once, but that because he had no means with which to support a wife, he did not ask her to marry him until about a year ago. And then, he states, it developed that she had been in love with him all the time—and so they were married. A real love match. He says that he adores his wife and that she is equally fond of him, and that he makes this statement to the reporter in order that the world may understand exactly how things stand, and may not misjudge him, or her, ever again.”

“The cheek of the fellow is monumental, Nan.”

“It certainly is,” she replied.