Chapter II: A Deepening Mystery

Nick Carter was much less surprised, of course, upon learning of the mysterious disappearance of Archie Waldmere, than he would have been if he had not seen the episodes that had occurred about half past ten, and the remarkable duplication of the costume described.

Naturally, too, several pertinent questions at once arose in Nick’s mind.

Who was the other woman--the duplicate Night?

Was Waldmere the masked man who had accompanied her from the house and departed in a limousine?

Did he, in that case, know with whom he was going, or did he suppose he was departing with his wife?

If not, and he went willingly with another, what motive had he in so doing?

Was he guilty of a secret love affair, as Chick had suggested, and had he gone to indulge in a clandestine flirtation, intending to return within a reasonable time, only to be inadvertently detained until this late hour?

Nick was not inclined to believe anything of that kind, as a matter of fact. He had a very high opinion of the titled young Englishman, who had been loyal enough to his love for a beautiful chorus girl to make her his wife, in spite of the opposition of his choleric old father, the Earl of Eggleston, and the consequent estrangement from home and family and native land, he having for the two years since his marriage been engaged in Western mining projects, occupying a fine residence in Riverside Drive.

In view of all of these facts, of which Nick was thoroughly informed, he did not believe that Waldmere was guilty of a clandestine love affair. He decided that he would not immediately disclose what he had seen, however, and that he first would look into the matter superficially and make sure he was right on certain points.

For Nick did not know positively, of course, that it was Mollie Waldmere whom he had seen ascending the front stairs at precisely half past ten. There was a possibility of its having been the other--the unknown personification of Night.

“It really is extraordinary, most extraordinary,” Mr. Carrington remarked, when the detective did not reply for a moment to the anxious woman. “I cannot account for it.”

“I don’t think there is any cause for alarm,” said Nick. “Have you made sure, Mrs. Waldmere, that your husband is not in the house?”

“Dear me, yes!” exclaimed Mollie, gazing at him. “I have searched everywhere in the crowd. It is nearly two hours since we unmasked. Archie was to have gone in with me for refreshments, but I have waited and searched in vain. I know, Mr. Carter, that something has happened to him. He would never desert me in this way. Besides, he did a most extraordinary thing earlier in the evening.”

“What was that?” Nick inquired. “Sit down, Mrs. Waldmere, and tell me. I will look into the matter.”

Mr. Carrington had closed the door of his private library, and all three then sat down to continue the discussion.

“He sent me a note about half past ten, Mr. Carter, asking me to join him in the west-front chamber, and saying that he wanted me. Here it is, merely these penciled lines on a scrap of paper. I thrust it into my waist, not wanting to drop it on the floor.”

Nick read the fragment of paper she hurriedly produced. It contained only these lines:

“Come up to the west-front chamber, Mollie. I want you.

ARCHIE.”

Nick returned the paper to her, remarking:

“I infer that you did not find Archie in the west-front chamber.”

“No, I did not,” said Mollie nervously. “I could not imagine why he wanted me. I hunted vainly for him on the second floor. I have not seen him since, Mr. Carter.”

“Examine the writing, Mrs. Waldmere,” said Nick. “Does it look like Archie’s hand?”

“Why, no, not exactly,” she replied, after a brief scrutiny. “I really don’t believe that it is his. But I did not notice it, Mr. Carter, at the time. I felt a bit nervous and hastened upstairs to find him.”

Nick remembered having observed it, and he now had positively fixed the identity of the woman seen on the stairs. He took the note from her again and asked:

“Was this brought to you by one of the servants?”

“No, it was not.”

“By whom?”

“It was slipped into my hand by a man clad in a Mexican costume. I was surprised, of course, but I opened and read it. The man then had disappeared. I wondered how he had identified me, of course, but I supposed that Archie had told him what costume I was wearing. That made me nervous, you see, for I feared he might be ill. I could think of no other reason for his wanting me.”

“When had you previously seen him?”

“Not for half an hour, Mr. Carter, or longer.”

Nick took the note from her again, saying, while he slipped it into his pocket:

“I will keep this for a time, Mrs. Waldmere, if you have no objection.”

“None whatever.”

“Tell me, now, what costume your husband wore.”

“That of a Spanish cavalier.”

“Did he have it made, or rent from a costumer?”

“He hired it from Perrot, in Fifth Avenue.”

“And yours?”

“Came from the same place. Some of the jewels have been added, and will be removed before I return it,” said Mollie, pointing to some of the ornaments.

Nick gazed thoughtfully at the floor for a moment, then turned to Mr. Carrington.

“Your guests were admitted by card, I believe?” he said inquiringly.

“Yes. Each presented an invitation card to Perkins, the butler, with the bearer’s name and that of the costume worn.”

“Who now has the cards?”

“Perkins has charge of them.”

“Have him bring them here,” Nick directed. “I wish to examine them.”

Mr. Carrington withdrew to find the butler.

“When did you decide to wear this costume, Mrs. Waldmere?” Nick then asked, turning to her again.

“Oh, nearly a week ago,” said Mollie. “I engaged it of Perrot about that time.”

“Who except him knew you were to wear it? Did you inform any person?”

“Only one, aside from my husband and the servants, who may have heard me discussing it with him,” said Mollie. “I told one intimate friend of mine, Clara Ringold, of Brooklyn. She and her husband were invited and intended coming, but I have not seen either of them. Something must have prevented them.”

“What costume was she to wear?”

“That of a cabaret singer. She has a beautiful voice. We confided in one another, Mr. Carter, that we might recognize each other during the evening.”

“Where were you at that time?”

“When we confided in one another?”

“Yes.”

“I was calling on Mrs. Ringold in her Brooklyn residence. That was several days ago.”

“Were you alone with her?”

“Yes. We were seated in the library.”

“She is the wife of the Honorable Charles Ringold, I take it, who was a member of the last Congress.”

“Yes, the same,” bowed Mrs. Waldmere. “She----”

“One moment, please,” Nick interposed.

Mr. Carrington had returned, bringing a pasteboard box containing the invitation cards received by the butler at the front door, and presumably bearing the name of every guest who had entered the house.

Nick at once began a rapid inspection of them, his companions watching him with mute interest, and he was not long in finding what he sought. He discovered first the two cards presented by the missing man and his wife:

“Mr. Archie Waldmere, Spanish Cavalier. Mrs. Archie Waldmere, Night.”

The names of the costumes had been written on the cards by Waldmere himself, and his wife readily identified them.

A few moments later Nick produced two others, and he then placed the box on the table.

“Here are two of more importance,” he remarked, showing them to Carrington and Mollie.

They bore the following names:

“Mr. Charles Ringold, Mexican Toreador. Mrs. Clara Ringold, Cabaret Singer.”

“The names of the costumes evidently were written by the same person, for the hands are identical,” Nick observed, while his companions examined them.

“But this is very strange,” said Mr. Carrington, with a look of perplexity. “I have not seen Ringold nor his wife since the unmasking. I supposed they were not here.”

“I am very sure they have not been here, Mr. Carrington,” said Mollie confidently.

“But these admission cards--how came they here, in that case?” Carrington demanded. “Perkins certainly received them at the door.”

“The arriving guests were not required to unmask for Perkins, were they?” Nick inquired.

“No, certainly not. He had a list of the invited guests, and checked off each arrival.”

“The explanation is a simple one,” said Nick. “Two strangers got by Perkins by using these two cards.”

“But Ringold would not have given his cards to others. He is above such discourtesy as that,” Carrington warmly protested.

“Undoubtedly,” Nick agreed. “It is safe to assume, then, that the cards were obtained from him by covert means, also that a subterfuge of some kind was employed to prevent him and his wife from coming here to-night, or even communicating with you.”

“But that smacks of knavery, Mr. Carter, if not crime itself,” said Mr. Carrington apprehensively.

“I now am sure of knavery of some kind,” Nick replied. “Whether it is so serious as to come under the head of crime remains to be learned.”

“Dear me, this is shocking.”

“I now will tell you what I saw about half past ten this evening,” Nick added. “I want you to say nothing about it, pending my further investigations.”

Both of his companions pledged themselves to secrecy, and Nick then briefly told them of his earlier observations, much to the amazement of Mr. Carrington and the increasing anxiety of Mollie Waldmere.

“Don’t let my disclosures add to your alarm,” said Nick, observing her paleness. “The circumstances admit of only one interpretation.”

“What is your opinion?” Mollie questioned.

“Though he departed voluntarily, your husband did not go intentionally with another woman,” Nick explained. “He was lured away by her, thinking her to be you, Mrs. Waldmere, and detecting no difference in the two costumes. You were likewise lured to the second floor of the house by the forged note given to you, in order to preclude your seeing and preventing the subterfuge that deceived your husband.”

“That undoubtedly explains it, Nick,” said Mr. Carrington.

“And all this was evidently accomplished by two persons who, in some way, obtained the invitation cards of Mr. and Mrs. Ringold, and also prevented their coming here to-night.”

“Oh, my! this is terrible,” said Mollie, with lips quivering. “I cannot help feeling alarmed, Mr. Carter.”

“I will take the case and sift it to the bottom,” Nick assured her. “You suspect no person, of course, of having designs upon Mr. Waldmere?”

“No, indeed!”

“Nor know of any reason for such?”

“I have not the slightest suspicion.”

“I see you have a telephone here,” said Nick, with a glance at Mr. Carrington. “Let me try to get the Ringolds and see what I can learn.”

“Do so, Carter, by all means.”

“I am sure they have a telephone,” said Mollie. “I frequently talk with Clara.”

Nick looked up the number, but he tried in vain for several minutes to get a response. All he could obtain was that of the exchange operator:

“They do not answer.”

“There must be a reason for this,” said Nick, replacing the receiver. “They ought to hear the repeated ringing of a telephone bell, even if they are abed.”

“What’s to be done?” asked Mollie anxiously. “I am trying to be calm, Mr. Carter, but I am frightfully disturbed.”

Nick came to an abrupt determination.

“I will go to Brooklyn and see what can be learned,” he replied. “In the meantime, Mrs. Waldmere, you must go home and wait until you hear from me.”

“When will that be?”

“I will telephone to you as soon as I return from Brooklyn. I then shall go to my residence, from which I will ring you up. Chick will remain here, Mr. Carrington, until your guests have departed. I think there will be nothing more wrong.”

“This is bad enough, Carter, Heaven knows,” was the grave reply.

“Oh, it may not prove as serious as you apprehend, not serious at all, perhaps,” Nick said lightly, though chiefly to encourage the woman.

“Well, well, I hope not.”

“Do nothing more about it, nor say anything to others,” Nick repeated. “Leave the matter entirely to me. I will do all that can be done with the case, and will lose no time in doing it.”

Mollie Waldmere thanked him feelingly, then went to make her preparations for returning home.

Mr. Carrington detained the detective for a moment, asking gravely:

“Tell me frankly, Carter, what do you think of this? Do not deceive me.”

“Frankly, then, Mr. Carrington, it looks bad, quite bad,” said Nick. “Knaves do not take such risks, nor go to so much trouble, unless with some strong incentive. I cannot conjecture what lies back of it, of course, but I am going to find out.”

“Will you communicate with me later?”

“Surely by to-morrow morning. Keep quiet in the meantime and leave me to do the rest.”

Nick remained only to talk briefly with Chick, telling him what he had learned, and he then departed hurriedly, heading for home in a taxicab.