Chapter XVII: A Question of Four Lives

Sarah tottered back into a chair after Nick had ceased speaking, and she remained there, with her head resting in her hands, and quietly sobbing until the detective addressed her again.

“Come, come, Sarah, this will not do at all,” he said. “Remember what I said to you--that I shall be at the Fells in the morning. You can have from now until then to think over all that we have talked about, and to decide upon the importance of the additional knowledge you can supply. I think, by morning, you will have decided to tell me all.”

“Very good, sir. I will go; and to-night, on my knees, I will pray for guidance so that I may decide to do what is right in the morning.”

“All right. Let it remain that way, until you see me to-morrow.”

“Tell me, sir, do you think she is in immediate danger?”

“I am only groping in the dark about her now, Sarah, but I think there is a deeply laid plot here, that is destined to affect the entire family of Dantons. The mother was taken ill suddenly, and her son believes that she was poisoned. She is better now, and, probably, out of the reach of her enemies. I would not be surprised to hear, almost any day, of the death of Reginald’s father, who has about concluded his European trip, and must be on the point of returning home, especially since he has heard of the tragedy at his house and must know how it has affected his family; and I would not be surprised to hear of an attempt on the life of Reginald within the next few weeks. Don’t you understand, Sarah?”

“No, sir, I do not.”

“Why, it is simply that there is a certain woman in the world whom we know as Isabel Benton, who believes that she can personate Mercedes Danton so well that if her father, and mother, and brother were out of the way she would have no difficulty in deceiving the rest of the world. It is all very simple--awfully simple after what you have unconsciously revealed to me to-night--all of which I think I should have sensed before this, and which I would have done, had my mind been upon it. Go home now, Sarah. Be prepared to tell me all you know, in the morning. I can wait until then, but I charge you, if you would save the lives not only of your mistress, but of your mistress’ father, mother, and brother, keep no secrets back from me. It is no longer a question of one life, or two; it is a question of four lives--four human lives, which these fiends coldly intend to sacrifice to their greed for wealth and luxury.”

As soon as Nick was alone, he repaired to the telephone and called up the favorite club of Reginald Danton.

“Mr. Danton has just gone out,” he was told, “but he said that he would return in half an hour. No; he did not say where he was going, but I think over to the Waldorf.”

“All right,” said Nick. “If he comes in ask him to wait for the gentleman who met him at the Fifth Avenue front of the Waldorf just before dark this evening.”

For a moment, after he hung up the phone, he stood with his hands behind him, in deep thought; and then he hurried to his dressing-room, from which, after a quarter of an hour he emerged, but so altered in appearance that he bore not the slightest resemblance to himself.

He was now, in every feature of his make-up, a typical Frenchman--a Boulevardier with a title or two to his name and ample time and money at his disposal. As he sauntered out upon the street, he murmured to himself:

“If Danton is at the Waldorf I will run across him there; if he is not, I can look him up at his club later.”

When he arrived at the hotel he entered by the Thirty-third Street door and strolled slowly through the building toward the office. From there he made the rounds of the corridors and also peered into several of the rooms, but nowhere did he get a glimpse of the man he sought. It was evident to him that if Reginald had indeed come to the Waldorf, he had already taken his departure.

Now, it so happens that the Waldorf is a hotel where one rarely takes the trouble to examine the register--indeed, it is rarely in evidence; and they keep three or four on tap, as it were, so that there is always one in which you may write your name while the others are in use by the bookkeepers.

Nevertheless, it so occurred that as Nick was passing the desk in the office, one of the registers was lying idle on the counter near the registry clerk’s window.

Without any object whatever in view, save only the thought of killing time, Nick paused, and, having turned the book around, drew it toward him.

He scanned the names without motive and without even comprehending those he read, idly turning the pages of the book backward, until suddenly he started--violently, for him, although the start was wholly inside and would not have been noticed by a person beside him--nevertheless, he started, for, written upon the register in rather a bold but plainly a feminine chirography, he read the name:

“MISS MERCEDES DANTON.

“Two maids.”

He glanced hastily at the top of the page to discover the date of registry, and also made a mental note of the number of the suite placed against the names, and then he stepped away again and dropped into one of the big armchairs to think.

The date of the registry was exactly one week old, showing that the entry had been made the very day when Mercedes was supposed to have disappeared from her home, and Nick smiled when he thought how thoroughly a person may disappear from view in the very heart of New York by simply going to a hotel and by giving orders that you are not “in” to anybody while in town. It is only necessary after that to remain in one’s room.

“Now here is a remarkable circumstance,” mused Nick. “If I am right in my conjectures, the woman who is masquerading as Mercedes Danton is in this hotel at the present moment, and she has managed in some way so to hedge herself about that she has not the least fear of what may happen, even if her name is discovered on the register--which it is not likely to be, save through some such accident as mine. To prove that, I will go to the room clerk and inquire for her.”

He sauntered up to the desk and asked:

“Is Miss Danton stopping here? Miss Mercedes Danton?”

“No. Gone. Went away a week ago,” replied the clerk shortly, and without raising his eyes. But Nick was satisfied. He returned to his chair and reseated himself.

“It is quite evident,” he mused, “that I have received the stereotyped answer prepared for any person who happens to inquire for Mercedes Danton. It is also equally evident to me that she is at this moment in this hotel--that is, the woman who represents herself to be Miss Danton, and that instead of wasting my time in running after her brother, I had better look into this matter here and now.”

He crossed the corridor to the locality of the pneumatic tubes which are used as mediums of communication with the upper floors, and asked one of the clerks there to tell him the exact location of the suite he wanted to find, and then he made his way through the building to what is known as the Waldorf side of the hotel and so ascended in the elevator.

Having stepped out at the floor he had desired, he sauntered carelessly through the corridor, passed the door, continued on his way to the far end of the hall, and then retraced his steps. Then, having taken note of the number of the room directly opposite the one that was occupied by the woman he quested, he descended again to the ground floor and went out of the building.

He hurried at once to his own house, and, without altering his disguise, for it served as well as any for the work he had in view, he hastily packed a grip that was liberally pasted over with tags and labels.

Nick Carter had determined upon one of the boldest moves of his career, as will soon be seen--a move, too, for which many of his critics might be inclined to censure him, since it involved entrance to a woman’s room without her permission--but, yet, he was convinced that the end he had in view justified the means that were necessary to accomplish it.

Even when he began the packing of his grip, he hesitated; but assured as he was that four lives were in immediate peril, he cast his scruples to the winds and continued with his preparations.

The articles with which he supplied his grip were simply such as he might find it necessary to use in the work he had to do, and in a surprisingly short space of time from the moment he entered his house he left it again--but not, however, before he had made use of the telephone to call up the manager of the Waldorf and ask if he could be accommodated with a certain room, and he gave the number of the one directly opposite the entrance to the suite that was charged against the name of Mercedes Danton.

The reply to his request was all that he could desire, and, accordingly, he returned, grip in hand, to the Waldorf, without delay.

Fifteen minutes after entering the hotel, he was assigned to the room he sought, and had sent up his grip.

The time was as yet early in the evening--barely ten o’clock--and as at least two hours must elapse before he could commence operations as he had planned them, he determined to walk over to the club which Reginald Danton most frequented, and, perhaps, in that manner kill two birds with one stone--that is, see him and give him the warning he had intended to convey before he discovered the name of his sister on the register, and so been forced to alter his plans.

But even while he was standing near the desk, turning over his plans for the night in his mind, he heard the voice of Reginald behind him, and saw him saunter through the corridor in the direction of the café, in company with two others.

“Good,” said Nick to himself, and he followed them, noticed where they seated themselves, and then, returning, sent a boy to tell Reginald that a gentleman wished to speak with him at the desk.

Reginald appeared in a moment and stood looking vacantly around him in search of a familiar face, but, seeing none, was about to return to his friends when Nick touched him on the shoulder.

Reginald Danton wheeled instantly and confronted Nick. A frown appeared on his face, and was then succeeded by a smile, for, after all, he thought, this stranger might be the person who had sent for him.

“You wish to speak to me?” asked Reginald.

“Yes,” replied Nick, in his natural tones, although in a low voice. “Tut-tut, Danton, don’t look so surprised. You recognize my voice, of course.”

“Yes; but it is the only thing about you that I do recognize,” said Danton.

“Naturally, since it is all I wished you to do. But stroll with me through the corridor for a moment. I want to talk to you.”