<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER XII. <br/> <small>THE HUSTLING REPORTER.</small></h2>
<p>Nick smiled at the simplicity of the young man.</p>
<p>“Dumond has a reputation for keeping his
mouth shut,” he said, “and that is the reason he
has built up such a profitable business. Go to him
to-morrow with this suit, trade-mark and all, and
he will swear that the trade-mark is a forgery,
and that he never saw the clothes before.”</p>
<p>“Do you think the woman came to America in
quest of these diamonds?” asked Maynard.</p>
<p>Nick did not reply immediately. He was examining
a comb and brush which lay upon a dresser
at the head of the bed.</p>
<p>“Look here,” he finally said, turning to Maynard
with the brush and comb in his hand, “the
woman could not resist the temptation to primp
before the mirror. And she left hairs in the
brush and the comb.”</p>
<p>Maynard took the brush into his hand.</p>
<p>“What do you see there?” asked Nick.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Not black hairs, certainly. Short red hairs.”</p>
<p>“Exactly.”</p>
<p>“But this person was dark,” insisted Maynard;
“at least so described by the clerk.”</p>
<p>“Also described by the clerk as a man,” said
Nick, with a smile.</p>
<p>“How do you know that these hairs were not
left here by some former occupant of the room?”
asked the young man.</p>
<p>“Because,” was the reply, “she combed her hair,
after removing her black wig, before she removed
her clothes. There were short red hairs on the
collar of the coat she wore.”</p>
<p>“A red-haired woman,” mused Maynard.</p>
<p>“Very slender and with black eyes,” added
Nick. “She couldn’t color her eyes, you know,
and the clerk said they were black. We may also
add a very nice white complexion.”</p>
<p>Nick went to the washstand in the corner of
the room and pointed to a black sediment on the
sides of the bowl. The piece of toilet soap which
lay on the marble top was also rimmed with black.
The interior of the bowl and the surface of the
soap were still moist.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“There is where she washed off her face stain,”
said Nick. “So we have a slender, red-haired,
fair-complexioned woman, about five feet three,
according to the clothes, with very small feet and
hands.”</p>
<p>“How do you know about the feet and hands?”
asked the young man.</p>
<p>“The woman slopped water from the bowl as
she washed,” was the reply, “and it fell on the
carpet and over her shoes. See, the spot where
this foot stood is dry; the carpet is wet, and the
dry spot represents a very small shoe.”</p>
<p>“We started in with a dark-complexioned male
murderer,” said Maynard, “and now we have
come to a fair-faced woman with red hair, and
clothes made in Paris.”</p>
<p>“You asked me a moment ago,” said Nick, “if I
thought this woman came across the Atlantic in
quest of these diamonds, and I made no reply.
Now, I can tell you that it is possible that she
did, and that she did not come alone.”</p>
<p>“A conspiracy for robbery?”</p>
<p>“That is about the size of it, as it looks now.”</p>
<p>“Do you think this affair in any way connected<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</SPAN></span>
with the former larceny of the diamonds, when
they were followed from South Africa?”</p>
<p>“There is little doubt of it,” was the reply.
“Who was with you to-night besides the dead
man?”</p>
<p>“Why, I was at rehearsal, as I told you at first.
That is the way the diamonds came to be with
me. They were to be used in the play, you know.”</p>
<p>“And the members of the club knew that you
had them with you?”</p>
<p>“Of course. They admired them vastly.”</p>
<p>“And who did you talk with about them; especially,
I mean?”</p>
<p>“Julius Mantelle, I think.”</p>
<p>“Who is he?”</p>
<p>“A recent acquaintance from Paris and a member
of the club. During the rehearsal he made
an appointment with me.”</p>
<p>“Where were you going?”</p>
<p>“Why, I told you about that. To the African
fortune teller’s. We had a date for two o’clock,
and we waited at the café, Townsend and I, for
Julius to come.”</p>
<p>“He did not arrive until after Townsend left?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“No. He went home with one of the ladies.”</p>
<p>“Had you talked with Julius, as you call him,
about the African fortune teller before to-night?
You mean the fortune teller out on East Houston
Street?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, he had long promised to secure a private
séance for Townsend and I, and to-night the
chance came.”</p>
<p>“What do you know of Julius Mantelle?”</p>
<p>“Nothing.”</p>
<p>“Is he in business?”</p>
<p>“He is just a globe trotter, I think.”</p>
<p>“Plenty of money?”</p>
<p>“I think so. He never borrows.”</p>
<p>“How long have you known him?”</p>
<p>“About three months.”</p>
<p>“He came from Paris to New York?”</p>
<p>“So I am informed. That must be the clerk
coming back, and there seems to be some one with
him. I wonder if he called the police?”</p>
<p>The next moment the door was thrust open, and
the clerk, accompanied by a youth of breezy manners,
swung into the room. Nick looked at them<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</SPAN></span>
sternly, for he was not patient when disturbed at
his work.</p>
<p>“What do you want?” he asked.</p>
<p>The young man, who was red-headed, freckled-faced,
and the owner of a perennial smile, advanced
toward the detective.</p>
<p>“I am to blame for the intrusion,” he said. “I’m
a reporter, and want to know all about this murder
and the loss of the diamonds. Which is Mr.
Charles Maynard, and which is Mr. Nicholas
Carter, the famous detective? Ah! the coroner
has not been called as yet. Here is the body of
the murdered man. What luck! Now, if you will
stand aside, I’ll take a snapshot of it.”</p>
<p>The young man began arranging a camera
which he carried in his coat pocket. Nick took
him by the back of the neck and landed him outside
the door.</p>
<p>“Now, keep out of here,” he said. “And you,
too,” he added, turning to the clerk.</p>
<p>“Oh, you can’t stop the press,” shouted the reporter,
pounding on the door. “I’ve got the story
right here. And another one to boot. Young
girl mysteriously murdered half an hour ago in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</SPAN></span>
a tenement on East Houston Street. Beautiful
girl! I took her picture.”</p>
<p>Nick opened the door.</p>
<p>“Come in here and tell me about it,” he said.</p>
<p>“Oh, you have thawed out, have you?” said the
young man. “Well, I don’t know much about the
case. The girl had been out during the night, I
take it. Anyway, there was a row, and the girl
was stabbed. The people of the tenement declare
they had a row over diamonds, or something of
that sort. I’m going back there right now. Want
to come with me?”</p>
<p>“It may have some connection with this case,”
whispered Maynard to the detective. “Diamonds
in the case, you know.”</p>
<p>“I was just thinking of that,” said Nick, “but
I am not entirely satisfied that this young man is
just what he pretends to be.”</p>
<p>“I might go back with him and find out,” suggested
Maynard.</p>
<p>For a moment Nick made no reply.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />