Snarled Identities; Or, A Desperate Tangle

Nicholas Carter, and his first assistant, Chickering Carter, had risen early that morning, but not for the usual reason. It was a very unusual occasion in the great detective’s...

“Shortly after ten o’clock last night fire was discovered in the laundry at Clinton Prison. The blaze spread with surprising rapidity, and as the laundry was in the basement of...

He did not give his name, which is not to be wondered at under the circumstances, for the caller was Green-eye Gordon—not his ghost, but the man himself, substantial flesh and b...

Chick had been in favor of cutting off all communication with the detective’s residence in New York. It was not because he himself felt any great need of a holiday, but rather b...

On the tip of her tongue she had the answer which she had already given to several inquiries—that the detective was out of town. Therefore, her amazement may be imagined when sh...

He was not there in Nick Carter’s shoes, in undisturbed possession of the detective’s study, for the mere satisfaction involved in such a daring masquerade. Of course, the exper...

Green Eye’s decision had been an immediate one when he heard the second man’s name, for Lane A. Griswold was several times a millionaire, and the owner of the New York _Chronicl...

For a time it looked as if the millionaire newspaper proprietor meant to resent the supposed detective’s effrontery in some way, but he managed to swallow his wrath, and, after...

“Perhaps—perhaps not,” murmured the bogus detective, joining the tips of his fingers as he had seen Nick do. “Please tell me now how the fellow managed to get hold of the money,...

“By no means, my dear Cray,” he said. “Simpson didn’t approach the Hattontown bank in his capacity as treasurer of the fund. He knew better than to do that—knew that he would ha...

“Unfortunately, that’s only too true,” admitted the millionaire newspaper proprietor. “Secrecy is the prime requisite in this case, and that precludes the possibility of arrest....

As a matter of fact, Green-eye Gordon did not intend to do anything, if he could help it. It appealed to his lazy temperament, and his sense of humor, as well, to let Cray do as...

“The fellow has lived in and around New York for fifteen years, at least, for he has been in the employ of the paper that long,” Gordon thought, continuing his analysis. “Probab...

It was quite early in the afternoon when Jack Cray reached New Pelham, and during his journey to that outlying suburb he had plenty of time in which to think out a plan of actio...

Mrs. Simpson asked the question bravely enough, but there was a certain haunted expression in her eyes which suggested that some inkling of the situation might have come to her....

Jack Cray barely avoided a sudden start at that last remark of Mrs. Simpson’s. He had been hoping for some light on the electric car, but had thought it improbable that he would...

“Nothing, of course,” was the prompt response. “I’m trying to get at something else, Mrs. Simpson—I’m afraid I can’t tell you just what at present. Are you a light sleeper?”

For one thing, he felt certain that the famous detective kept money there—very likely a large sum—for, in Nick’s profession, it is often essential to lay one’s hands on plenty o...

Despite the opening of the door, the interior of the safe did not meet Gordon’s eye, as he naturally had anticipated. Instead, he found himself confronted by a second door.

Of course he had, but he could not be sure of it at that moment, and, even if it were locked, what beastly mischance had brought an interruption just then?

Green-eye Gordon, Nick Carter’s double for the time being, did full justice to the excellent dinner that he found ready for him when he reported to the detective’s dining room.

The two men had some hours to kill, for they could not expect anything to happen before midnight, at least, although they realized that it would be well to be on the scene befor...

When Cray and Gordon first came within sight of No. 31 Floral Avenue there were lights in some of the upper windows, but before they had reached a point opposite the house, the...

Under ordinary circumstances, he would not have thought of doing so where Nick Carter—as he believed—was concerned. That night, however, the great detective appeared to be unusu...

Although tense and physically on the alert, Gordon found his mind wandering. He wondered idly where Simpson had been staying, and how he dared to travel about even at night in t...

Gordon showed himself, and approached as they flopped about for a few moments in that confined space. Suddenly he turned without warning and ran around the corner behind which h...

It badly dazed the ex-police detective, making him totter and throw out his hands instinctively, but the attack was so extraordinary, coming, as he believed, from Nick Carter, t...

About half past six the following morning, Mrs. Simpson’s maid, who had slept out, let herself into the house with her latchkey and quietly made her way to the kitchen.

Doctor Lord was a young man, with next to no practice, who had recently moved into one of the new houses on the hill. It was easier, therefore, to go for him in person than to s...

Although he was frequently absent from his luxurious suite of private offices in the _Chronicle and Observer_ building for weeks at a time, he had walked in that morning promptl...

As we have seen, the missing man’s wife had always had an uncomfortable feeling that all was not as it should be. Her husband had not been himself for some time before his disap...

He pressed against the sliding door some distance below the lock, and found that it gave quite a little. That discovery encouraged him, and, running around the garage, he approa...

“For the love of Heaven!” exclaimed Lane Griswold, in a shocked voice. “You are crazy, Simpson, or lying! Do you actually mean to charge Carter, who is one of the greatest detec...

For the moment Griswold had forgotten his desire for secrecy. To be sure, if he could expose Nick, he would be willing to have all the facts come out, but he knew that he would...

Lane Griswold had telephoned to the detective’s house only once, and then had been told that the detective had not returned since the previous evening. It might be, however, tha...

That must be it, and yet it hardly seemed possible that he could have made the journey in that time. He would have had to leave New York in the dead of night following the robbe...

“That’s about enough of that, Griswold,” he said, with ominous quiet. “I would advise you to restrain yourself. I’m not accustomed to being approached in this way, and I’ve endu...

“Quite near enough for the purpose, as I recall,” Nick replied. “More than that, he’s a master of make-up, and would have had very little trouble in copying my features. His eye...

Despite his eagerness to see his friend Cray, and to get on the fugitive’s trail, Nick remained at the house long enough to draft a telegram to the warden of Clinton Prison, ask...

“I must ask you gentlemen to go,” the physician said crisply. “This has been too much for him, as it is, and any further excitement might cause serious complications, if nothing...

Nick Carter hardly knew what to do about the members of his household. They had not yet been informed of the way in which they had been taken in, and it was difficult to decide...

His caller had started to take a chair, but paused with his hand on the back of it, and stared at Nick in the greatest amazement. Presently, a spot of angry red appeared in each...

Gillespie went on more confidently: “It ought to give him the shock of his life to think he’s dealing merely with me, and then to have you reveal yourself to him. Of course, we...

Ernest Gordon had not been the only one who had played a part during the interview which had ended in the detective’s act of copying his caller’s features, and borrowing his clo...

It was not until dusk that Nick Carter left the Gillespie house, and when he did so, it was on foot. He had not gone more than a block or so, however, before he hailed a passing...

He was a tall man, and the sixty years that had passed over his head had left him his rather slim and upright figure. His hair was white, but abundant, and on the whole, he had...

Ernest Gordon was inclined to consider the world a pretty good place, as he finished his breakfast in Nick Carter’s dining room the following morning. Everything had gone very w...

“I only hope he’ll prove worth the trouble,” he told himself, as the butler left the room. “He’s a spendthrift, of course. Money turns to water and runs through his fingers, no...