The double dagger or, Nat Ridley's Mexican trail

had been taken for examination after the body was removed, "when was Lemberg stabbed? Obviously, some time between getting into the cab near his office and where it drew up at the curb in front of his club. I must have a talk with Carter, the taxi man." Nat had no difficulty getting all the information he wanted from the New York police. Though a private detective, Nat had more than once given the regular force valuable clews on cases other than his own. "Whatever in reason Nat Ridley wants, let him have," had been the standing orders of Inspector Rossberg of the metropolitan force. "Hello, Kelly!" called Nat on entering the station house and nodding to the lieutenant behind the desk. Then, not to make it appear that he had come around especially to find out more about the strange murder, Nat went on: "You haven't seen Baldy around this afternoon, have you?" "No, Mr. Ridley, I haven't," was the answer. "Is he in this neighborhood?" "He might be," was Nat's noncommittal answer. Baldy Stoler was well known to Lieutenant Kelly and to others of the regular New York police, since he had been on the force before leaving to join Nat's agency. "Working on a case, I suppose?" went on Kelly. "That's it. I thought maybe he might have dropped in here as this would be on his way. But I guess it's too late now. Anything new?" It was a stereotyped question, such as Nat often asked, but this time he knew what the answer would be. "Well, yes," Kelly replied slowly. "We have a bit of a case here--it might be in your line, too." "A case?" questioned Nat, as though he had no idea in the world what was coming next. "What sort?" "Murder." "Oh, they're common enough," and the sleuth spoke with an air of indifference. "I hardly think it will interest me, unless it is out of the ordinary." "That's just it!" declared Kelly, with a chuckle. "It's very extraordinary, or I wouldn't have mentioned it to you. And it concerns a friend of yours--or rather, a rival." "What's the joke?" asked Nat, as he lighted one of his strong, black cigars and passed one like it to the appreciative officer. "No joke at all, Mr. Ridley. There's been a mysterious murder done in the last hour and the man killed is Carl Lemberg, the private detective. You know him, don't you?" "Sure! You don't mean to tell me he's dead!" and Nat was sufficiently startled to throw Kelly off the track. Whereupon the lieutenant proceeded to give details, adding that the taxi was even then in the garage of the police station and the driver was in Captain Flood's room being questioned. "You don't tell me!" and Nat continued to be astonished. "Do they suspect the driver?" "Oh, no! He's out of it. Here he comes now," and, as Kelly spoke, the precinct commander emerged from his private office, followed by a typical New York taxi driver. The fellow looked anxious and worried, but his face cleared as the captain, after nodding to Nat, said: "It's all right, Kelly. This man can go. I know where to get him when I want him. He hasn't the least bit of evidence. Report here once a day until this affair is over, Carter," said the captain crisply. "Yes, sir. And can I take my cab along?" "Well, no, not just yet," was the answer. But as the man's face fell, the captain said: "I'll arrange with the taxi company to let you have another machine. We may need this for evidence." "Oh, all right," and Carter's face cleared again. He left the station house and Nat talked with the captain, mentioning what Kelly had told him about Lemberg. "A queer case," said the commander. "In broad daylight, on one of the busiest streets in the world, a man is stabbed in a taxi and the murderer gets away. Fierce, I call it! The papers will pound us again." "You've got to expect that," answered Nat Ridley, with a grim smile. "But how does this taxi man account for not hearing anything?" "The only way he says it might have happened was when he was caught in a traffic jam soon after picking up his fare. There was some blasting being done, to put down a foundation for a new building, and the street was blocked off a minute or two. The driver thinks that Lemberg was stabbed just at the blast went off, which would have prevented his cries being heard or any noise of the struggle coming out of the cab." "The murderer picked a good time," commented Nat. "But how did he get into the cab?" "That's something Carter doesn't know. Lemberg may have been followed up by someone who had a grudge against him. You know he has shown up some pretty big bootleggers and dope peddlers. Well, one of them may have been laying in wait and hopped into the cab just as, or soon after, Lemberg got in. He could have chloroformed the German, or maybe kept him quiet by a threat, and, when the blast came, he might have driven the knife in. It is also possible that when the cab stopped, on account of the traffic jam, that then the murderer opened the door and did the trick, the blast covering Lemberg's call for help." "That sounds more reasonable than the other," said Nat. "Well, it isn't any of my affair." "I'm going out to look in the cab," said the captain. "Some of my men have given it the once over, but I always like to take a peep for myself. Want to come?" "I might, since I can't locate Baldy," stated Nat, as if it was of no moment. A little later he was standing in a quiet street at the rear of the police station and garage. The taxicab had been driven out into the open and was standing there. "He bloodied it up a bit," commented the captain as he opened the door. "They'll have to put new leather on before they can run this out again," and he indicated several dark red stains. "But there doesn't seem to be much else," he added as he looked carefully over the interior of the vehicle. "Guess we'll have to get the finger-print experts down here. Yes, Duffy, what is it?" he asked as a patrolman, whom Nat knew slightly, came out and stood waiting for his superior. "You're wanted on the 'phone, sir," Duffy reported. "It's Inspector Rossberg about that bond robbery." "Oh, I'll be right in. See you later, Ridley. This isn't your case, but look around if you like." "Thanks," rejoined Nat, and he peered into the cab. Almost at once a fleck of something white between the back and the seat cushions caught the detective's eyes. He looked around and noted that Duffy was engaged in lighting a cigar, and then, with a quick motion, Nat put his hand between the cushions and pulled out the white object. He could hardly restrain an exclamation of surprise when he saw that it was a card, and scrawled on it was the device of the double dagger! "I might have known it would be here!" thought Nat. "The Mexicans were on Lemberg's trail, and they got him. Bold devils they are! Knifing him in a taxi in broad daylight in the heart of New York!" He shot another glance at Duffy, but the patrolman, who was on reserve duty, was taking advantage of the chance to get some fresh air and was strolling about in the neighborhood of the taxi. With a quick motion Nat Ridley slipped the card into his pocket and was about to walk away when he noticed three men strolling along the street and curiously observing the vehicle. The men had dark, swarthy complexions, their hair was black, sleek, and shiny and their dark eyes were shifty. "Mexicans or Spaniards, if I'm any judge!" mused Nat. "And it wouldn't surprise me in the least to learn that they came along to find out just what the police are going to do in this murder case. I wish I knew more about them. I will, soon. Meanwhile----" Just then Duffy strolled over toward Nat and did exactly what the detective wished should not happen. For the patrolman greeted the sleuth loudly by name, and added: "You working on this taxicab murder?" "No, Duffy, I'm not!" said Nat decidedly. "I have other fish to fry. I'm as busy as all get-out on another case. I have no time to look into this. Besides, I think it's a case of suicide." "No! Do you now?" asked the policeman. "Well, maybe 'twas. Thim Germans are great for suicidin'. I wouldn't put it past this fellow, though I didn't know him. So you're not on it?" "No, Duffy. I just stopped in out of idle curiosity. It doesn't interest me in the least." "Well, I guess the regular police detectives will find out about it," went on Duffy with the ordinary policeman's faith in the wisdom of the sleuths. "Comin' in?" he asked. "No, I'm off," Nat answered. The talk, on his part, had been purposely loud. He had noted with some alarm the lingering walk of the three dark-skinned men. They seemed to want to remain in the vicinity of the taxicab to hear what was being said. "If they can make anything out of what I said they're welcome," muttered Nat to himself as he prepared to walk along. But he caught a glimpse of the face of one of the trio, and on that face was a sneer. It was as though the dark fellow had been laughing--as though he was not in the least deceived by the effort Nat Ridley had made to throw off suspicion. If the strangers knew the name Ridley, they could not have failed to have heard Duffy's loud use of it. Then the sneering man spoke, giving a sharp order to his righthand companion. Though he may have been speaking of someone else, Nat Ridley had a strong suspicion that he himself was the one referred to when the sneerer said: "Ramon, you shall watch that pig! I do not trust him nor any of them! Watch him!" "He shall be watched, Señor," was the low-voiced reply as Ramon received his orders. And Nat Ridley caught Ramon flash a look at him that boded no good. CHAPTER V THE ROPE IN THE DARK "Now just what?" mused Nat Ridley to himself, as the three dark-featured men sauntered on their way. "What does that mean? No good, I'm positive. But were they referring to me or to someone else?" The detective, now that he had decided to enter this mysterious case, determined to do his best, not only to avenge a fellow practitioner, but for the sake of his own reputation. That is, his reputation as regarded by himself. He cared little for what the public thought or said, did Nat Ridley. But it was something to make a good, clean clearing up of a case for the sake of himself and those in his office. So it was a matter of pride with the sleuth not to be beaten in this battle of murder and wits. "If I challenge them," reasoned Nat, "and accuse them of speaking of me as a pig, I shall lay myself open to the charge of butting in on somebody else's business. That might queer matters at the start." Therefore he decided against that, but as he watched the men walking slowly away he mentally photographed their features in his memory so that he would know them again. And not only did he make a lasting vision of the men's faces, but of their walk, their actions, and such of their peculiarities as appeared on the surface. "For if they are what I think they are, they'll use disguises the next time I see them," reasoned Nat. "They must have spotted me all right, though how, I don't know." On the other hand, Nat realized that he might be on the wrong track, that these men might be idle, curious individuals who had heard about the murder--as who had not by this time? "And they could easily claim, if I talked with them, that they were speaking of one of their own acquaintances when they used the endearing term of pig," chuckled Nat. "Well, what's the next move, I wonder?" And wondering this, the detective also wondered whether, by the talk he had indulged in with Duffy, he had or had not thrown the dark-featured men off the track. "First of all," decided the sleuth, "I'll have a go at those fellows.