Chapter XVII: The Looted Cranium

The man seemed reliable, and he told a perfectly straight story.

He informed Patsy that he drove for a garage on Boston Road, in the Bronx, and that he had never been called to Doctor Grantley’s house before that morning. The manager had received the order and sent him out.

Patsy did not see fit to tell the chauffeur that he had seen the arrival of the machine at Grantley’s. He allowed the man to tell his story in his own way, and found it accurate, so far as his own observation went.

The driver declared that three men had entered the cab. He described them with sufficient accuracy, and reported that the elder of the two men who had subsequently left the cab had given him Mr. Baldwin’s address.

When the machine reached the corner of Lenox Avenue and One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, however, the same man--Grantley, in short--had ordered him to stop. The two had alighted without explanation and told him to take the third man to the address given.

The chauffeur had thought it rather strange, but they gave him no time to ask any questions. Instead, they had walked rapidly away to the eastward, along One Hundred and Twenty-fifth.

After noting that and glancing in toward his remaining fare--who seemed sunk in a sort of stupor--the driver had continued on his way without incident until he had arrived at Baldwin’s house.

He had informed his passenger that their destination had been reached; then, failing to obtain an intelligent answer, he had rung the doorbell and notified the manservant who answered it that he had an old gentleman in the cab, who had been sent to that address.

The servant had gone out to the machine and recognized his master. Pandemonium had then broken loose in the house, and the secretary had been summoned.

That was the gist of the chauffeur’s story, and Patsy’s questionings failed to bring out anything else of importance.

He took the man’s name and address and the number of the taxi. Finally, he instructed the driver to remain where he was until Nick could question him, if desired.

When Patsy returned to the first floor, he found that Doctor Vanderpool had arrived. Nick put in an appearance a few moments later, approved of the measures Patsy had taken, and sent his assistant to the point at which Grantley and Siebold had disappeared.

Thus far, Nick was necessarily in the dark as to just what had happened to the millionaire. For all he knew, Baldwin might be suffering merely from a premature removal to his home. The detective’s instinct told him, however, that something far more sinister than that had occurred.

If there had been nothing wrong, Grantley could never have deserted his patient in any such way and left him to be taken home in that haphazard fashion, as if he had been a drunkard picked up on the street.

The fears which Nick had tried so long to fight down rose in their might and mastered him at last. He felt sure that something frightful had happened, but he was no nearer an understanding of Grantley’s motive than he had been in the beginning.

The two fugitives--for such he assumed them to be--must be caught at any cost, and to that end the police must be notified and a general alarm sent out.

Nick decided, though, that it would be best to await the result of Doctor Vanderpool’s preliminary examination before taking that step, especially as the delay ought not to be long.

He had one of the servants take him upstairs to the corridor outside of Baldwin’s suite, and sent word to the physician that he was there.

After a wait of ten or fifteen minutes, Vanderpool himself emerged hurriedly. His manner was greatly agitated and his eyes had a look of horror in them.

He took Nick by the arm and nervously drew him aside.

“Good heavens, Carter!” he whispered hoarsely. “This is worse than I feared. Grantley is a fiend--nothing less! I would not have believed it----”

“He has actually done something to Baldwin, then?” Nick demanded quickly.

“He has done his worst,” was the grave reply.

“You mean?”

The physician looked about him. His grip on Nick’s arm became painful, and he leaned closer.

“Mr. Baldwin is a hopeless idiot, I fear,” he announced, in a broken whisper.

The detective gave a gasp of sympathy, and recoiled a step.

“An idiot--literally?” he asked.

Vanderpool nodded.

“There seems to be no doubt about it, unfortunately,” he said. “A second operation was performed several days ago--on his head. I shall send for my X-ray apparatus at once, and until the photographs are developed--which will be done with all possible speed--I cannot, of course, speak with authority. The evidences of the operation are unmistakable, however, and his distressing symptoms alone are sufficient to show, in general, what has happened. Carter, one of the most powerful of our money kings lies there in that room, conscious but bereft of all real intelligence. I believe he would play with a doll if you gave it to him--or a bright-colored ball. And yet it isn’t enough to say that he has only the mind of a child. That wouldn’t be fair to the children, unless one had reference only to newborn babies. Heaven help him, his is now only the mind of the imbecile--or, in other words, no mind at all that is worthy of the name!”

“Is it possible?”

“It is more than that--it is true, man! That monster has stolen more--infinitely more--than all of Baldwin’s wealth: he has stolen part of his brain--and no power on earth can restore it!”

Words were powerless to express the detective’s horror of the crime. His face showed the depth of his feelings, however, as well as of his determination to bring the merciless surgeon to justice.

“And the eyes?” he asked, after a pause.

“Oh, Grantley has kept his promise, curse him! That only makes it seem worse. He has played to his heart’s content with one of the most precious lives we have to-day. The devilish irony of it! He has given Baldwin his sight, collected his huge fee--and then reduced his patient to a mere brainless hulk! The villainy of it almost passes belief!”

Nick could only agree, his blood running cold at the thought. The next moment it surged feverishly through his veins. He vowed to catch Grantley and his accomplices again if it should be his last act on earth.

He waited to hear no more, but sought the telephone and called up police headquarters. One of the deputy commissioners was on duty at the time, and Nick soon had the satisfaction of being assured that all of the machinery of the department would be put into motion at once.

No more than an hour had elapsed since Grantley and Siebold had alighted from the taxi in Harlem. Surely they could not have put any great distance between their pursuers and themselves. Besides, Patsy and Ida Jones were doubtless already at work at the scene of their disappearance.

Nick had barely hung up the receiver before the phone bell rang. As none of the servants was at hand, the detective answered it. He was not surprised to recognize Chick’s voice on the wire.

“Hello, Chick!” he said. “What’s the word?”

“The roosts are empty, chief,” was the disappointed answer. “I’m telephoning from Grantley’s house now. I found it empty and broke in. The people next door tell me that Hoff and the nurse skipped out in another taxi not more than ten minutes after Mr. Baldwin was taken away.”

“Which way did they go?”

“North, curiously enough--in the opposite direction from that taken by the others.”

“Have you found out whether the car came from the same garage?”

“I just telephoned. The garage people say they sent only one car to this address this morning.”

“Well, phone a description of the German and Miss Rawlinson down to police headquarters. I’ve already notified Deputy Commissioner Leith, and the hunt is on in earnest. Then try to find the garage. Call up my house every half hour or so. I may want you.”

The detective was about to leave the Baldwin residence when he was informed that a messenger had just brought him a note, directed in care of Baldwin’s secretary, and had left without waiting for an answer.

The “note” proved to be simply an envelope, directed in Doctor Grantley’s characteristic hand, and containing a number of small fragments of torn paper.

The detective had pieced together only a few of the bits when he gave an exclamation of amazement.

Grantley had sent him Baldwin’s check for the quarter of a million dollars, torn into pieces!