CHAPTER XV.

ON NICK’S TRAIL.

It was five o’clock when Chick and Patsy entered Pemberton Square.

It was about half an hour before that when Nick Carter was lodged in his place of confinement.

“You wait here, Patsy,” said Chick, at the corner on which Nick engaged Grady’s runabout a few mornings before. “There is no need of both of us going into the chief’s office. I’ll return inside of five minutes.”

“Go ahead.”

Chick hastened down the basement stairs and into the chief’s office—only to encounter Sandy Hyde just entering from the opposite corridor.

“Where’s the chief?” Chick cried bruskly.

Hyde didn’t know Chick from a side of sole leather, but, knowing at least that he was not Nick Carter, he answered quite promptly:

“The chief is in his office.”

“I must see him.”

“What name?”

“Chick Carter. Come, come, I’m in a rush!”

Hyde’s catlike eyes at once began to dilate upon hearing the name, taking on their greenish glow of internal excitement.

He now realized that he had given Vic Clayton a wrong tip, that one of Nick’s assistants was in Boston and on the case with him, and the servile little rascal at once began to figure how he could square himself and discover Chick’s mission.

He did not dare hazard playing the eavesdropper again, and also feared that he might not overhear all that was said by so doing, and he at once adopted the first resort that appealed to him.

He hastened through the enclosure, and into Weston’s private office, saying quickly:

“There’s a man out here to see you, chief.”

“What man?”

“I didn’t catch his name, sir. But he’s in an awful rush, and I reckon something has happened.”

Just as Hyde had expected, Chief Weston started up from his chair and strode into the general office.

Hyde was cunning enough to foresee that, if Chick was in such great haste, their conversation would probably be carried on in the outer office.

So it was, moreover, despite that Weston at once cried, as he shook his visitor by the hand:

“Why, hello, Chick Carter! How are you? Come inside.”

“No, no, chief,” Chick quickly declined. “I’m going to stay but a moment. Has Nick been here to-day?”

“Yes—about one o’clock.”

“Do you know where he has gone?”

“I know where he said he was going.”

“Where was that?”

“To Madame Victoria’s rooms, in Tremont Street,” replied Weston.

“Do you know for what?” inquired Chick, beginning to see light ahead.

Chief Weston briefly told him of what Nick’s mission at Vic Clayton’s rooms consisted, as stated by Nick, and then he inquired curiously:

“Why are you asking about him, Chick? Is there anything wrong?”

Having learned all that he could then and there, however, Chick decided to impart nothing at this time.

“No, nothing wrong, chief, I think,” he quickly rejoined, turning to go. “I am merely in a hurry to locate him, that’s all. He may have returned to the hotel by this time.”

“I think likely you’ll find him there,” nodded Weston, a bit suspicious of Chick’s evasion.

Chick did not wait longer, but bolted out as he had bolted in.

Weston walked toward his private office.

Hyde’s greenish eyes, now glowing more brightly than ever, drifted toward the telephone-closet.

Before he could make a move to convey the desired warning to Badger, however, Chief Weston turned back and said curtly:

“You come in here with me, Sandy. I want you to help me on my quarterly report for an hour or so. Look lively, too, or you’ll be tied up here till after six o’clock.”

The sallow features of the treacherous miscreant quivered and twitched with disappointment for a moment, but immediate obedience was imperative—and the telephone had to wait!

Chick Carter rejoined Patsy on the corner.

“Come on!” he exclaimed.

“Where now?” inquired Patsy, as they headed for Tremont Street.

“To the fortune-teller’s rooms.”

“Has Nick been there?”

“Yes, about two o’clock.”

“Did you learn for what?”

“All that Weston could tell me,” replied Chick, hurriedly informing him what he had learned.

Both were quick to see the possibilities which their various observations and discoveries presented, and Patsy now forcibly declared, as Chick concluded:

“I’ll bet that some kind of a scurvy trick has been turned.”

“I fear so, Patsy.”

“Badger wouldn’t have been on such a rush with that auto unless he had some scheme in view.”

“That’s right,” assented Chick. “Madame Victoria may have telephoned to him what Nick was about doing, and possibly planned with Badger to get him into their hands.”

“That appears about the size of it. If we get no trace of him here,” growled Patsy, “we’ll go out there again to-night and investigate.”

“That’s what we’ll do.”

“Do you know just where the fortune-teller’s rooms are located?”

“Yonder,” nodded Chick, as they hastened up Tremont Street. “In that block on the next corner.”

“What are you going to ask her, in case she is there?”

“Oh, I can give her some kind of a plausible story to explain my inquiries,” replied Chick confidently. “She’s not clairvoyant enough to see through me, I’ll go my pile on that.”

“Mine goes the same way,” vouchsafed Patsy, with a grin.

“I’ll assuredly not let her know that I’m on the case with Nick,” added Chick. “If these rascals think he is working it alone, we may derive some advantage by keeping them in the dark.”

“Surely.”

“Nick also may not wish us to expose that we, too, are investigating the case——Stop a bit! Wait here!”

Chick had suddenly caught Patsy by the arm and drawn him to the shelter of a doorway, less than twenty yards from that leading into the building occupied by Vic Clayton.

The occasion for this move was obvious.

Just turning the corner of Boylston Street, and approaching the building mentioned, was a huge touring-car of the latest type, occupied by two women only.

“By thunder!” muttered Patsy excitedly. “That’s Badger’s wife running that car.”

“I see it is,” said Chick more coolly.

“With the fortune-teller?”

“No doubt of it. She answers Nick’s description of her.”

“Gee whiz!”

“Well?”

“That’s not the car that Badger and his wife used this afternoon,” cried Patsy.

“So I see,” said Chick, still watching the couple. “There is something back of all this.”

“You bet there is!”

“Hold your horses, however, till I see what the two women are about to do.”

With skillful hands Claudia Badger had turned the huge car in Tremont Street, then brought it to a stop at the curb opposite the doorway giving ingress to Vic Clayton’s rooms.

Then both women deliberately alighted and entered the building, leaving the automobile unattended.

Chick Carter’s eyes took on a sudden bright gleam.

They had lighted upon a large willow hamper, or covered basket, attached to the rear of the car for the purpose of stowing away articles to be carried on a long tour. The hamper was nearly as large as a small trunk, and the top was secured only with two brass clasps.

“By Jove, Patsy, here’s the chance of a lifetime!” Chick hurriedly exclaimed.

“What do you mean?” came the eager inquiry.

“Do you see that hamper?”

“Sure!”

“Do you think you can get into it?”

Patsy needed no further hint to the design in Chick’s mind, nor to the possibility it presented. With eyes quickly glowing with eagerness and excitement, he hurriedly replied:

“Get into it? Sure I can! The scheme is a corker! It’ll take me right into the midst of these rascals. Come on, Chick, and——”

“Stop a moment,” cautioned Chick. “Get that policeman to help you, explaining who you are, and have him take away any stuff that may be in the hamper.”

“And you?”

“I’ll rush up-stairs, and keep those two women engaged till I’m sure you are well under cover.”

“Good enough!”

“And to-night you can count on me to lend a hand,” added Chick, “in case I am needed.”

“That’s the idea!” cried Patsy.

“Away with you, then, while I tackle the two women.”

Patsy hastened toward the deserted automobile, near which a policeman happened to be standing, and whose aid the former quickly obtained in the way Chick had suggested.

Chick, meantime, hastened into the building and up to the rooms of Madame Victoria.

He found the two women in the reception-parlor, Vic Clayton engaged in changing her automobile coat for a long cloak.

They had driven into town again, after securing Nick, only in order that they might be seen by the occupants of the stores near-by, with a view to subsequently obtaining the testimony of these observers, if the need arose, in support of some plausible story to the effect that they had brought Nick back to town and left him in some locality.

Upon hearing Chick enter the room, both women turned toward him with looks of surprise.

“I beg pardon, ladies,” said he, bowing. “I am looking for Madame Victoria.”

“I am she,” replied Vic, sharply regarding him.

“My name is Henderson, madame.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Henderson?”

“I am looking for a gentleman who is said to have been here this afternoon, and with whom I have important business,” explained Chick, with a deliberation well calculated to give Patsy what time he would require below.

He was quick to see, however, the suspicious gleam that instantly arose in Vic Clayton’s eyes upon learning his business, and he added, with some suavity:

“I am unable to find the gentleman at his hotel, madame, and I thought he might still be here.”

“Who is the gentleman?” asked Vic, with affected indifference.

“His name is Nick Carter.”

“Is he a friend of yours?”

“An acquaintance only.”

“How did you learn that he had been here, Mr. Henderson?” inquired Vic, now bestowing a gracious smile upon her questioner.

“I was so informed by the clerk at the hotel, to whom Mr. Carter had mentioned his intention of coming here.”

“Ah. I see.”

“I inferred that Mr. Carter came here to consult you professionally, madame, and I thought his interview might possibly have lasted till now.”

Chick easily detected the relief which his artful explanation had occasioned both women, and it convinced him that he was on the right track, yet he in no way betrayed his convictions.

Neither woman had approached the window to look out, and Vic Clayton had now buttoned her cloak and appeared anxious to depart.

Chick knew that Patsy must have accomplished his design by this time, however, and he did not care how soon the interview terminated.

“Well, Mr. Henderson, I cannot say where Mr. Carter has gone,” Vic carelessly rejoined. “We dropped him at the corner of Arlington Street, however, only a short time ago.”

“From your automobile?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Possibly, then, I shall now find him at the hotel.”

“I think it quite probable, sir, for he walked toward Washington Street after he left us,” smiled Vic, edging toward the door which Claudia Badger already had opened.

“I will return there and see,” said Chick, bowing himself from the room. “Thank you very much for your information.”

“Don’t mention it, sir,” replied Vic, with a little laugh, as she and her companion also stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind them.

Chick politely stepped aside, and let them precede him down the stairs.

Without so much as a glance at him again, both women fell into a conventional talk as they descended toward the street.

Chick reached the sidewalk close upon their heels, however.

The touring-car still stood at the curb—but there was no sign of Patsy in any direction.

The policeman was lingering near-by, with an air of indifference and a vacant stare across the opposite Common.

From some little distance away a few curious observers were gazing toward the car, wondering at what they had seen, but the officer had made sure that they were too remote to attract attention.

Neither woman noticed them as she crossed the sidewalk and quickly entered the car.

In another moment it was under way, with Claudia Badger at the wheel, and presently was speeding up Boylston Street.

Chick now turned to the policeman, who received him with a significant grin.

“What do you say, officer?” demanded Chick.

“He’s in it, all right, sir,” was the reply.

“In the hamper?”

“That’s what.”

“Was it empty?”

“Not a thing in it, sir.”

“Close quarters for him, weren’t they?”

“Rather,” laughed the officer. “But he fixed the clasps so he can get out whenever he likes, and he’ll not fare so badly. What’s the job, Mr. Carter?”

“If all works well, officer, you may learn by reading to-morrow morning’s newspapers,” Chick pointedly rejoined, as he turned to go. “I cannot wait to inform you, for I now have work of my own elsewhere.”

He was thinking of Badger’s place, and of what might befall the dauntless young detective then speeding out there in the hazardous manner described.

Ten minutes later, however, with a revolver in each hip pocket, Chick also was on his way to Brookline.