A Woman at Bay; Or, A Fiend in Skirts
him, he remained in his chair as he was, with immovable, sphinxlike
countenance and gloomy eyes. He was a tall, spare, rather well-dressed
figure, when he rose at last in reply to her spoken request, and he
stood, half leaning upon a cane which he held in his two hands, and bent
a little toward her as he spoke.
"I haven't any name, so far as anybody knows," he said slowly, and with
distinct and deliberate enunciation. "It has pleased my friends always
to bestow a title upon me. Until to-night I have always worked alone,
and have rarely made myself known to any of the inhabitants of the
underworld, and if any of you here have ever happened to be told about
The Parson, you will know who I am."
There was a distinct stir in the room when he uttered this name or
title, for The Parson had always been more or less a mystery, and one
that was much envied by thieves generally. He was a confidence man of
the higher type; the sort of man who would go into strange cities or
villages or communities, and represent himself to be a professional man;
sometimes a minister; sometimes a priest; again a rabbi; and it was his
graft to solicit and collect contributions for charitable purposes upon
forged recommendations and letters which he had prepared in advance.
His success in this line had been enormous, and his work had always been
done in the dark and alone, until six years before this particular
occasion, having done it once too often, Nick Carter had trailed him
down and captured him.
He continued:
"I was always very successful in my line of graft until Nick Carter got
after me, and while I didn't get quite so long a term as our friend
Cuthbert, I was sent up for five years, and served four years and three
months of it. I want to say to you now that every night and every
morning of my life during those four years and three months I cursed
Nick Carter and everybody and everything that belonged to him. That's
why I'm here. I take part in this little scheme that Madge has concocted
to down that fellow with the greatest pleasure I have ever known. If you
should happen to be in want of funds any time----"
"I'll supply the funds," interrupted Madge.
"All the same, if you should happen to be in want of funds at any time,
all you've got to do is to whisper it to The Parson and I'll put my hand
down in my pocket and supply the dollars, for I've got a few left, and I
know where there are a lot more to be obtained."
He resumed his seat slowly, rested his chin upon the head of his cane
between his hands, and the gloomy look came over his face again like a
mask.
And now Madge stood up behind the table, resting her hands upon it, and
leaning a little bit forward as she spoke.
"I'm a proud woman, my friends," she said. "I'm a young woman, too,
being not yet twenty-four, and a good hater. I am part Spanish and part
French. I was raised in Paris, and learned all that I know about my
business over there. The first time that I ever saw Nick Carter in my
life was in the office of the Prefecture of Police in the room of the
Chief of the Secret Service. I was seventeen years old at the time when
the chief had sent for me to question me about the death of a woman
which had occurred in the house where I lived on the floor above me, and
about which, fortunately, I knew absolutely nothing.
"But Nick Carter came into the chief's office while I was there. I had
only a fleeting glance of him at the time. I left the room almost as
soon as he entered it. I did not see him again for five years, at which
time he came in disguise to the thieves' headquarters where I was
staying. I recognized him that time by his eyes, but nevertheless he
captured me and sent me to jail.
"I escaped from that jail before I came to trial, and did it through the
help of my friends. Somewhat later than that he hunted me down a second
time, but I escaped, and I have sworn now to be even with him, and that
is why I have brought you here together. You will please to stand up
now, raise your right hands, and repeat after me in taking the oath of
The Band of Hatred."
CHAPTER XX.
A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
A strange series of accidents began the night of the day following the
receipt of the letter, and Nick Carter had no doubt whatever that it was
the first act to be played in the drama of vengeance which Black Madge
had inaugurated against them.
It was rather a simple thing of itself, and did no damage to amount to
anything. The fact was that during the night some malicious person had
placed under the front steps in the areaway of his house a barrel that
had been filled with cotton waste saturated with oil. It was only
necessary after that to apply a match to the inflammable material to
start an incipient conflagration. Had the house itself not been built of
granite, and--save the doors and windows and other trimmings--been
practically fireproof, the result would have been disastrous; as it was,
however, beyond badly scorching the door, and cracking a few of the
stones by reason of the intense heat that was generating, no damage was
done.
But the fact had been sufficient to remind Nick Carter and his three
assistants that Madge had not threatened idly, and that already she had
undertaken to carry out the substance of some of her warning.
At midnight the day following the fire in the areaway a blazing bomb was
hurled through the window of the second story of Nick Carter's house,
and rolled to the middle of the floor, where it blazed furiously, and
would undoubtedly have done a great deal of damage had it not so
happened that the housekeeper was present at the time, for Nick had a
guest that night, and she had been called late to prepare the room for
him.
The day following this one, about four o'clock in the afternoon, Joseph
discovered a dynamite cartridge containing a pound and a half of the
explosive in the vestibule at the front door. The fuse of this cartridge
was already alight and would have reached and exploded the percussion,
or detonating cap, if Joseph, for some reason unknown, had not gone to
the front door at that moment. He was not called there, and had not
heard anybody in the vestibule, or on the steps, and Joseph forever
insisted after this incident that it was an intervention of Providence.
This last incident was extremely serious, for had the cartridge been
exploded it must have torn away the entire front of the house, and have
done enormous damage, even if it had taken no lives.
Friday night of that week at about half-past eight o'clock in the
evening Chick and Patsy were walking up Madison Avenue together, and
when they arrived at the corner of Thirtieth Street, and were about to
turn toward Fifth Avenue, a shot was fired at them from across the
street.
Fortunately the bullet did not strike either of them; and, although they
both immediately pursued the would-be assassin, he was evidently
prepared to avoid them, for he leaped upon a bicycle and sped away so
swiftly that there was no hope of overtaking him. They only saw that he
was tall and slender, and that was all.
The Saturday morning following an express wagon stopped at Nick Carter's
house and delivered a package addressed to the detective, which was
marked: "Fragile. This side up, with care."
Joseph carried it to the detective's study, placed it upon the table,
and was about to leave the room when Nick stopped him.
"What is that, Joseph?" he asked.
"An express package, sir, which just came for you."
"Who brought it, Joseph?"
"The express wagon, sir."
"Bring it over here. Let me see it."
Joseph took the package in his hand, carried it over to place it on the
desk in front of the detective, who regarded it with a smile, while
strangely enough his mind went back to the number of attempts to injure
him that had been made during the week that was now nearly past.
"Did you sign for it, Joseph?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"I am expecting no package." said the detective.
"No, sir," said Joseph, not knowing what else to reply.
"I think, Joseph," said the detective, "that if you will take it to the
basement, or, rather, to the laundry, and draw one of the tubs there
full of water, it would be a good idea to put the package to soak for
five or six hours before we open it."
"Really, sir," said Joseph. "Why?"
"Joseph, if that package had come here as it has a week or ten days ago,
I should have opened it without a second thought, but, under the
circumstances and considering all that has happened of late, I deem it
wise to use every precaution. Take the package down and soak it as I
have directed."
Some hours later, when the detective recalled the incident to mind, he
and Chick went to the basement together, found the package, and with a
great deal of care opened it--from the bottom.
It was found to contain an infernal machine of the most approved
pattern, loaded with broken glass, slugs of lead and old iron, and an
assortment of nails, old keys, and bullets.
"A very pretty little present to send a fellow," said Nick, smiling
grimly. "I rather think it is a lucky thing, Chick, that it occurred to
me to give it a good soaking. I wonder what the woman will do next?"
Sunday evening when the detective entered his room he found Joseph
writhing on the floor in evident agony, brought about by the contents of
what had been a box of candy, and Nick instantly guessed that another
attempt had been made upon his life, this time to poison him.
But Joseph fortunately had only nibbled at one of the pieces, and,
beyond an hour's suffering for his foolishness, was not injured.
It appeared, when Nick questioned him, that a boy had handed the box of
candy in at the door, saying, when Joseph appeared to receive it, that
it had been ordered by the detective himself, and was to be placed in
his study for him; and the boy had had the temerity to raise the lid of
the box when he delivered it, wink slyly at Joseph, and exclaim:
"See! aren't they dandy? I tasted one; they're fine."
And then he had run away, laughing.
Joseph had seen the candy, and, being fond of it, could not resist the
temptation also to take a taste of it when he placed the box upon his
master's table.
That same night, at half-past eleven o'clock, Nick was seated at the
desk in his study, which is located on the third floor in the rear of
his house. He was engaged in looking over some notes relative to an old
case which he wished to recall to mind.
The shade at the window was lowered, but the light was in such a
position that it threw his shadow against the curtain and outlined his
head upon it almost perfectly.
Suddenly he was startled by the report of a gun, and the next instant a
bullet crashed through the glass of his window and buried itself in the
opposite wall of the room.
Later on, when he investigated the incident, he found that the bullet
had passed directly through the shadow of his head as it was cast upon
the window shade, the person who fired it evidently supposing that his
head was directly behind that shadow; but the fact that the light was at
one side of the room, and had therefore thrown the shadow somewhat back
of where he was actually seated, saved his life.
Further investigation disclosed the fact that the bullet had been fired
from the rear of one of the houses in the block directly behind where
the detective lived. It was not discovered how the would-be assassin had
secured his position on the roof.
But this accumulation of accidents--so called for want of a better
term--was altogether too much for the serenity and the composure of the
detective and his assistants.
It was evident that Madge had determined to make his life miserable if
it could be done, and when Nick recalled the substance of the letter she