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With Links of Steel

<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> <h3>FOUND DEAD.</h3> "What's the trouble yonder, Nick?" "Where?" "In the park." "Humph! Something wrong, evidently. Come on, Chick, and we'll see." It was nearly sunset one Monday afternoon, and almost two weeks subsequent to the incidents last depicted. That at least one of Dave Kilgore's suggestions had been adopted, and he and his gang had become rigorously guarded, appears in that the Carters had utterly failed to accomplish anything against them in the interval mentioned. Despite constant vigilance and incessant work on the case, neither Nick nor Chick had been able to secure an additional clew. Kilgore and Matt Stall had vanished as if the earth had swallowed them. The mammoth vaudeville troupe had completed its engagement, and was now disbanded for the season. Señora Cervera still retained her uptown house, and frequently received Venner as a visitor; but never a sign of the diamond gang, or of any stranger, could the detectives discover, in or about her place. Rufus Venner was attending to his business as usual, and appeared all aboveboard. Now and then he called upon Nick about the stolen diamonds, expressing a hope that they would be recovered; but in no way did he lay himself open to further suspicions than Nick had at first conceived. Yet Nick was too shrewd to press him with questions, and so perhaps betray his own hand. As a matter of fact, the famous detective was in quite a quandary over the case, because of his conviction that some big game was secretly afoot, and his utter inability to strike any tangible clew to it. Such a state of affairs was very unusual, and Nick chafed under it. It indicated that he was up against men as good as himself, and his vain work of the past ten days served only to aggravate him, and embitter his grim and inflexible determination to unearth the whole business. This Monday afternoon, as Nick and Chick were passing Central Park, the attention of the latter was drawn toward a group of men in one of the park walks, somewhat removed from the street. A policeman was among them, and they appeared to be gazing at something upon the ground. "It looks like the figure of a woman," said Nick, as he and Chick entered the park. "Officer Fogarty is there, and—yes, by Jove! it is the form of a woman." The two detectives quickly reached the scene, and the park officer at once recognized Nick, respectfully touching his helmet. "What's amiss here, Fogarty?" inquired Nick. Fogarty pointed to the motionless form upon the ground. "Dead!" said he, tersely. "We've just found her." "Keep those people further away, Fogarty," said Nick, with a toss of his head toward half a score of men gathered near by. "I will see what I make of the case." The figure was that of a girl, rather than a woman, apparently about eighteen years of age. She was lying partly upon her side upon the greensward, and evidently had fallen from one of the park seats upon which she had been resting, and upon which her straw shade hat was still lying. She was neatly clad in a suit of dark blue, and her girlish face indicated some culture and refinement. Near her, upon the grass, lay a piece of brown wrapping paper, and a yard of two of string, evidently removed from a small, square box, which she had dropped and partly fallen upon when stricken with sudden death. A mere glance gave Nick these superficial features, and he quickly knelt beside the girl, and felt her hand and wrist. "Dead as a doornail," he murmured to Chick, who also had approached. "I find her hand still warm, however. She can have been dead only a few minutes." "Heart failure, perhaps," suggested Chick. "I don't think so." "Why?" "She doesn't look it. Her form is plump, her cheeks full, and she appears to have been in perfect health." "Yet she is dead." "No doubt of it." "A pretty girl, too." "Very. See if there is any writing on that brown paper." "No, Nick; not a line." "Here, here, let me see it! What's this? It is punctured with tiny holes, evidently made with a pin." "So it is, by Jove!" "Perhaps she made them with her hat pin, while sitting there on the seat. See, Chick, there is the pin still in the hat." "I see it, Nick. What now?" Still kneeling beside the girl, Nick was holding the sheet of paper between himself and the sky. "No, the punctures are not uniform," said he. "I thought that they possibly had been made with some design, and perhaps formed some word or sentence that would give us a clew to the mystery." "None such, eh?" "Not a sign of it. Evidently she jabbed the pin through the paper only in idleness." "She is lying on a box of some kind, from which she probably had taken this wrapping paper." "So I see," nodded Nick. "Lend me a hand, Chick, and we'll have a look at the box." With gentle hands the two detectives moved the girl's lifeless form, and Nick then took up the box mentioned. It was about four inches square, and was made of silver, with an open work design of vines and leaves, which displayed a blue silk lining through the metal apertures. Plainly enough it was a lady's jewel casket, and one of considerable value; but it was entirely empty, and it bore no name or inscription. For several moments Nick Carter examined it very intently, with his brows gradually knitting closer and closer; and all the while Officer Fogarty, and the group of men in the gravel walk a few yards distant, mutely gazed and wondered. Chick Carter, however, who could read Nick's every change of expression, saw at once that the great detective not only was making some startling discoveries, but also was arriving at deductions far too subtle and significant to have been reached by any less keen and practiced observer. "What do you make of it, Nick?" whispered Chick, dropping to his knee beside his companion. Nick also lowered his voice, and for several minutes the two conversed in rapid whispers. "It is a jewel case, Chick; and quite a valuable one." "So I see." "I don't think it belonged to this girl. She looks as if she were the maid, or possibly the companion, of some woman of wealth or distinction. Her attire also indicates that. Hence so valuable a toy can hardly have belonged to the girl, but more likely was the property of her mistress." "No name on it?" "Not even an initial. Not a mark of any kind." "It is empty." "Yes." "Can the girl have been robbed of its contents, here and in broad daylight?" "Worse, Chick!" whispered Nick, between his teeth. "Worse even than that." "Good heavens, Nick! What do you mean?" "Chick, this girl was foully murdered!" "Murdered!" echoed Chick, with an involuntary gasp. "Can it be possible?" "It certainly appears so to me." "But the means?" "That is the mystery." "There are no signs of violence." "Wait a bit. Notice her right wrist, just back of the thumb and near the pulse. Notice that tiny red spot, barely observable. It might have been made with the point of a pin. Do you see, it?" "Yes, now that you call my attention to it." "It means something. I am convinced of that." "Others are not likely to discover it." "I hope they may not, Chick," Nick hurriedly rejoined. "I am flooded with ideas and suspicions, which I wish to consider and put in order before too much of this mystery leaks out. I'll explain later." "Perhaps her hat pin is poisoned," suggested Chick. "I don't think that." "Or possibly—" "Wait a moment. Look at this box." "Well?" "That wrapper was punctured while still on the box," explained Nick. "Notice that the pin went through the spaces in this metal design, and then through the silk lining inside." "Plainly enough, Nick." "Notice this particular puncture in the interior of the lining." "By Jove! there's a faint tinge of red around it." "Left when the pin was withdrawn," whispered Nick, significantly. "Chick, it's a tinge of blood!" "I believe you're right, Nick." "I am convinced of it. Also that there's a mystery here which cannot be solved in a moment," said Nick, impressively. "I wish to conceal these discoveries until after I have considered them more fully, and also identified this girl. See if you can find her purse, or anything that will reveal her name." While Chick was thus engaged, Nick arose and glanced sharply around in search of any evidence indicating that such a crime could have been committed unobserved in so public a place. The seat which the girl had occupied stood on the greensward, about eight feet from the gravel walk. By several clusters of shrubbery some feet away at either side, the seat was somewhat obscured from the view of persons approaching along the walk from either direction. Several trees cast shadows nearly over the spot, which was one very likely to have been selected by a couple desirous of being somewhat alone while resting from an afternoon stroll. Nick quickly noted these several features, then glanced at Chick and asked: "Do you find anything?" "Nothing by which to identify her." "Her purse?" "It contains only a few pieces of silver. No cards, nor so much as a scrap of paper. Other than her purse, there is only a latchkey in her pocket, and a perfectly plain handkerchief. Her identification must come later." "I guess we have missed nothing here," nodded Nick. "I'll have just a word with Fogarty, and then we'll go along." "What do you make of it, Detective Carter?" inquired the officer, as Nick approached. "I am not prepared to say," replied Nick, ignoring the startled glances of the several men who heard his name and now beheld the great detective for the first time. "The girl is dead, sir, isn't she?" "Oh, yes; there is no doubt of that," bowed Nick. "It may be a case of heart failure. You had better take the proper steps for the removal of the body. This box and wrapping paper, however, I am going to take with me, and will be responsible for them." "All right, sir." "By the way, Fogarty, how long ago did you discover the body?" "Scarce a minute before you came, sir." "Were you the first to see it?" "I was, sir." "Had you seen the girl about here before during the afternoon?" "No, sir." "Did you see anybody leaving here just before you arrived and discovered the body?" "I did not, sir." "That's all, Fogarty. I'll get any other particulars later." Thereupon, as Nick was about to turn away, a young man in the crowd came suddenly forth, and exclaimed: "One moment, Detective Carter, if you please! I saw that girl, about half an hour ago, walking this way with a gentleman." Nick turned abruptly to the speaker. "What is your name?" he asked. "Tom Jenkins, sir." "And your address?" "I live at the Hotel North, and am employed by Hentz Brothers, in Broad Street." "You say that you saw the girl walking this way with a gentleman?" "Yes, sir." "Did they appear to be on good terms?" "Excellent, sir. They were talking and laughing, and seemed to be enjoying themselves." "Do you know the girl's name, or where she lives?" "I do not, sir; nor anything about her." "Do you know anything about her companion, the gentleman you saw with her?" For the bare fraction of a second Jenkins hesitated, as one might do who was loath to bring trouble upon another. Then he replied, in faltering tones: "Well, yes, sir, I know the name of the man who was with her." "State it, please." "His name, sir, is Harry Boyden." Nick felt his blood start slightly, yet his countenance did not change by so much as a shadow. He glanced at Chick, however, and the same thought was in the mind of each. "Harry Boyden! The clerk employed by Thomas Hafferman, the dealer in diamonds!" <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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