A Woman at Bay: or, A Fiend in Skirts

"And Nick Carter sent them all to prison, did he?"

"He did that."

"How does it happen that he didn't send you along with them?"

"Well, I managed to slip out just in time," said Slippery, with one of his sheepish grins; "but he sent a bullet after me when I was running away that singed the hair over my right ear, and taking it all in all I hate him about as much as anybody."

"Not enough to kill him if I should ask you to do it, do you?"

"Well, Madge, when it comes to killing, that ain't in my line; but if you want me to lead him on somehow where somebody else could do the job, I think I'd be about the covey that could do it."

"That'll do for you. Sit down, Slippery."

"What's your name?" she added to the man who was next him.

A dark, beetle-browed, heavy-jawed, coarse-featured man, who looked as if he was as powerful as a giant, rose slowly to his feet, and replied in a surly tone, and with an ugly glitter in his eyes:

"I have got about forty names; leastwise, the police say I have; but they as knows me best calls me Bob for short; sometimes they fixes it up a little by calling it Surly Bob. But I think that Bob will do for you."

"What have you got against Nick Carter, Surly Bob?" asked Madge, smiling. She liked the looks of this hard-featured individual. He was just brutal enough in his appearance to satisfy her ideas of what a man should be.

Bob deliberately took a huge chew of tobacco into his mouth before he replied, and then, with a slow and almost bovine indifference, he responded:

"I don't know as it makes much difference to you, Black Madge, what I hate him for as long as I do hate him, and I'm bound to get square with him some day, whether I do it in connection with this organization that you're getting together or on my own hook without the help of any of you," and he glanced defiantly around. "It's enough that I do hate him. He's done enough to me to make me hate him. It's enough that if I had him alone in this room to-night one of us would never leave it alive unless he got the best of me without killing me, for I would certainly do him if I got half a chance.

"But I'll tell you one thing about him that maybe it will do some of you good to hear, for I give you fair warning that you want to give Nick Carter a wide berth unless you can manage somehow to catch him foul. He's about as strong as three horses, and if he ever succeeds in getting his grip on you you're gone. I'm about as tough as they make them, but I'm a wee baby in Nick Carter's hands, and don't any of you forget it."

"Tell us the story," said Madge.

"Oh, it ain't no story; it's just a short account. We ran into each other once near the front door of a bank I had gone into after hours and without the permission of the president and board of directors. When I picked myself up from the middle of the street after he grabbed me there was a crack in the top of my skull which didn't get well for three months. That's all I've got to say about it, but I want to add this: If that fellow Slippery Al, who says killing ain't in his line, but leading astray is, wants to bring Nick Carter my way, and will fetch him along so as I can get him foul, I'll fix him for keeps, and no questions asked."

And Surly Bob sat down.

He had no sooner taken his seat than the individual next to him sprang up without waiting to be asked to do so. If you had encountered this individual along Broadway or on Fifth Avenue in New York City, you might not have devoted a second glance to him; but if you had, and still had not studied him closely, you would not have thought him other than a gentleman.

His features were handsome or would have been handsome were it not for the crafty and shifty expression of his eyes and the otherwise insincerity that was manifest in his face. Among his companions of the underworld he was known far and near as Gentleman Jim.

By profession he was what is known as a confidence man, although it was said of him that he had the courage to take any part that might be required of him in preying upon the world at large.

He had been known to assist, and to do it well, at a bank robbery. He had once lived for some time in Chicago as a highwayman. It was said of him that in his youth he had begun his career of crime by rustling cattle in the far West, and that he was as quick and as sure with a gun as any "bad man" of that region.

His attire was immaculate and in the height of fashion. He was clean shaven, and he wore eyeglasses which gave to him somewhat of a professional look, and which he had been heard to say were excellent things to hide the expression in a man's eyes.

In stature he was tall, rather broad, and extremely well built. In short, Madge looked upon him when he rose with undoubted admiration in her eyes, as if she believed that here was a man who could be anything he chose to be in the criminal world.

When he spoke it was in an evenly modulated tone of voice which might have done excellent service in a drawing-room; and, moreover, his voice was pleasant to listen to.

"I suppose you would like to hear from me, as well as from the others, Madge," he said slowly. "I haven't got very much to say, except that I don't take much stock in boasted hatreds. Where I was raised, and where I began my career – and I am not particularly proud of that career – when we hated anybody we rarely said much about it, but I will say this to you, and to the others who are here: I am very glad that this organization is being perfected. I am very glad that some concerted action is to be taken against this man, Nick Carter, who has come pretty near putting us all out of business. You all know who I am, and some of you have got a pretty good idea what I am. Nick Carter knows about as much about me as any of you, which, after all is said, is next to nothing at all. But I have been on a still hunt for Mr. Nick Carter for some time, and when I get him in a position which Surly Bob calls foul, I shan't wait to send to any of you for assistance. I'll do the rest myself."

"And now you," said Madge, fixing her eyes upon the individual who was seated next to Gentleman Jim "Rise in your place and tell us your name, and make us a little speech, as the others have done."

"My name is Cummings – Fly Cummings, I'm called. Some of the bunch here knows me and some don't. Those that do know me don't need to be told anything about me, and those that don't know me are just as well off. I'm in business for myself, and always have been. The world owes me a living, and it's been paying it pretty regular ever since I was sixteen years old, and I'm now coming sixty-two. I'm like the others here in one respect: I've got a grudge against the man we've been talking about. I've never been able to make him feel it, because I've always fought mighty shy of him rather than get within his reach; but when I heard that this here movement had been started going by you, Madge, and the word was passed around among the guns downtown that you wanted a few of us that hated Nick Carter to come to the captain's office and form a little organization, it struck me that it was just about the right thing to do. I've heard what Surly Bob had to say, and I know that Surly isn't the sort of chap that's in the habit of talking through his hat. If Surly Bob had it in for me I'd patronize the New York Central Railroad, and take a train out of town right away.

"I've heard what Gentleman Jim had to say, and if Jim was looking for my gore to-night, I'd take a steamer across the ocean or commit suicide, because I'd know I couldn't get away from him in any other way.

"I've heard what Slippery Al had to say, and while Slippery ain't of much account, he's about the nastiest toad that ever picked a pocket, and I wouldn't care to have him down on me.

"And as for Scar-faced Johnny, well, Johnny is a bad one, too. I ain't making any threats particularly, Madge, but I'm willing to join this organization, or I wouldn't be here, and I want to say now that when you're fixing up the business, and arrange for the signals so that we can summons each other when we want them, I'll do my part to the tune of compound interest; and I guess that'll be about all from me."

The sixth man of the party, who was the next to get upon his feet, had the stamp of prison life all over him. His face bespoke the pallor which is acquired in no other place in the world, and the vicious, shifty, sneaking gleam in his eyes spoke well of the craftiness which is the result of long confinement under the domination of brutal guards and turnkeys.

So recently had he escaped from prison, apparently, that his hair was still cropped short to his skull, and one almost expected when looking at him to see the stripes of prison garb upon him.

"I am Joe Cuthbert," he said slowly, in a tone so low that it could scarcely be heard. "I wouldn't have come here to-night at all if I hadn't been assured on the level that it would be perfectly safe to do so. I don't think there is any one of you in this room except Madge herself who knows me, but you will all hear from me later on as sure as I'm alive and can escape arrest.

"You may have been told since you came here that I have just escaped from prison, or if you haven't been told it, and know how to read, you have probably seen the rewards for my recapture. You will know, too, that I was sent up for croaking another chap, or, as they call it in the courts, for murder. I want you all to know that I served eight years. Eight years of hell, and that I've come out of there with the determination of getting square with the man that sent me up. That man was Nick Carter; and that's all I've got to say."

There was a moment of utter silence after this announcement, which had in it many of the elements of the dramatic.

There was not a person in that room who had not seen the inside of a prison, and many of them had served as many as four years, while others had been in prison many times for short terms.

But to have just escaped from prison after having been confined for eight long years seemed to them the climax of the possibilities of hatred.

But the moment passed, and Madge fixed her eyes upon the seventh of the group, who slowly rose to his feet and said:

"After what we've just heard, Madge, it doesn't seem that anything that I can say can add to the intensity of feeling that pervades this distinguished assembly. I regard it as quite an honor to be among those who know so well how to hate. As for me, I have also been inside a prison, to which this man Nick Carter sent me. I had been mixed up in a little diamond robbery from one of the big firms in this town. I don't know but maybe some of you heard about it; it was called the taking of the pear-shaped diamonds, and at the time that happened I was in love with a very beautiful girl, and was outwardly leading a very respectable life. It's enough for me to say now that when the exposure that followed Nick Carter's investigation of that case, and through it the exposure of all my previous criminal record, which before that time I had been able to conceal, the girl went back on me, and would have nothing more to do with me. Now she is married to another man, and while I don't blame her any, I do blame the man that exposed me, and if any of you people that are gathered here can help me in getting square with him I'll be eternally grateful. My name is Eugene Maxwell."

There was only one other individual left in this collection who had not as yet spoken, and now, although Madge fixed her eyes instantly upon 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 had sent him he decided in his own mind that the bullet had not really been intended to take his life, but only to warn him of the dangers that were hovering over him every minute that he lived.

In the meantime – or, rather, during the time that has already been mentioned – the detective and his assistants had not been idle. There had not been a day or a night when he and Chick and Patsy and Ten-Ichi had not been engaged in searching some part of the city for Black Madge, or for some trace of her.

They had visited the dens in the lower part of the city; they had questioned the policemen and the stool pigeons of the detective bureau, and they had even gone so far as to communicate directly with crooks who were known to them for information concerning the woman.

But none had been forthcoming. Black Madge was keeping herself as thoroughly under cover as if she were still in the prison in that other State from which she had escaped.

But after this occurrence of Sunday night, when the bullet was shot through the window at the detective, he determined to make no more half-hearted efforts to find Madge, but to set out at once that very night in search of her; and accordingly he put away his papers and called Chick into the room with him.