*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69735 ***

                              NICK CARTER
                                WEEKLY.

  _Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1900 by Street &
 Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C._

 _Entered as second class Matter at the New York, N. Y., Post Office._

_Issued weekly._   _Subscription price, $2.50 per year._   October 6, 1900.


No. 197.STREET & SMITH, Publishers. NEW YORK. 228 William St., N. Y. 5 Cents.


                        The Little Glass Vial;

                                  OR,

                A BEAUTIFUL BLACKMAILER BROUGHT TO BAY.


                    By the Author of "NICK CARTER."




CHAPTER I.

THE VIAL IN THE SNOW.


"Well, old man," said Nick Carter, as
he shook the snow from his overcoat,
"what’s the news? Anything strange
since this morning?"

He was addressing Chick, his assistant,
who, to use his own expression, was
"acting the chamber lawyer" for the day.

"Yes. Two small cases have come in;
but there is a telegram from Boston that
may be of importance."

"Let’s see it, my lad!" said the great
detective, throwing his overcoat on a
chair and seating himself. He took the
dispatch in his hands and read it slowly.

"H’m! Yes, there’s something in this,
Chick. What time is it?"

"Five-forty."

"Good! I can catch the Providence
boat. Telegraph anything you have to
say to the Adams House!" and in another
moment the noted detective had left the
office.

The snow lay heavy upon the ground
when Nick Carter arrived in Boston next
morning. Nothing eventful happened during
his journey, and he felt rested and
ripe for his work--whatever it was.

He was about to step into a cab, when
his eyes caught sight of a small vial, half
buried in the snow, which he picked up
and placed in one of his overcoat pockets,
then addressing the hackman, he said:

"When did the snow stop falling?"

"Just after the train for New York
pulled out last night, sir."

"You had a heavy fall?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know where Mr. Samuel
Rogers lives in Dorchester?"

"Of course I do, sir."

"Well, take me there."

Half an hour later the cab stopped at
an old-fashioned mansion, which stood in
a beautifully kept lawn, in the most
fashionable part of Dorchester.

"I wish to see Mr. Samuel Rogers,
junior," said the detective to the colored
man who answered his ring.

"What name shall I say?" asked the
domestic.

"Oh, never mind the name. Tell him
that a friend from New York wishes to
see him."

       *       *       *       *       *

A few minutes afterward a good-looking
young fellow entered the room.

"Mr. Rogers, I presume?" said Nick.

"Yes, sir. That is my name."

"I received a telegram from you yesterday,"
rejoined Nick Carter.

"Oh!" said Rogers. "You are Mr. Nick
Carter?"

"Yes."

"Won’t you be seated?" continued the
young man. "I wished to see you upon a
very sad and mysterious matter."

The detective watched him keenly as he
spoke; but did not interrupt.

"My father lies dead in the next room.
The doctors say he died of heart disease,
but I have a different opinion."

"Ah!" sighed Nick. "And what may
your opinion be, Mr. Rogers?"

"I believe he was murdered."

"Murdered?"

"Yes."

"Upon what do you base this suspicion?"

"This letter," said Rogers, handing the
detective an envelope, which bore the
Boston postmark of the previous day.

Nick opened it and read as follows:


"Mr. Rogers: Your father did not die
of heart disease. He was murdered. Have
the body thoroughly examined before
burial. You will find that the murderer is
nearer home than you imagine.

                                                       "ONE WHO KNOWS."


Nick looked from the letter to Rogers’
face.

In a searching glance, he seemed to
learn what he wanted.

"You wish me to unravel this mystery?"
he asked.

"Yes, sir," replied Rogers.

The detective placed the letter in his
pocket and said:

"Have you had a private examination
of your father’s body?"

"No, sir. I waited until I had consulted
with you."

"You did quite right," said Nick, "and
now, Mr. Rogers, will you be good
enough to let me see your father’s remains?"

The only watcher in the death chamber
was the colored man who had admitted
Nick Carter.

Nick looked at the corpse and noticed
that the face had a peculiar grayish hue.

Turning to Rogers, he said:

"Was the body embalmed?"

"No, sir. Dr. Lord wished to have it
embalmed yesterday; but I objected."

"Why did you object?" asked Carter,
narrowly watching his companion’s face.

"That letter," said Rogers; but before
making any further explanation, he ordered
Jones--the colored man--to leave the
room.

"What about the letter?" inquired
Nick, when Jones had gone.

"I received it by the afternoon mail,
just before the doctor made his examination.
I then telegraphed to you, and decided
that, until you arrived, I would not
allow any interference with the body."

"Was the coroner notified?" asked
Nick.

"No, sir. Dr. Lord has given a certificate
of death from heart disease."

Just then the servant summoned young
Rogers to receive a visitor.

The moment he was gone Nick took a
hasty inventory of the surroundings.

As the young fellow had said, it was
quite apparent that nothing in the room
had been disturbed since the old man
died.

During his examination of the body his
hand touched something with a sharp
point.

It lay within the folds of the coat, and
Nick made an exclamation of surprise
when he discovered that it was a lady’s
hat-pin, with a curious haliotis shell head.
This he put in his pocket.

He had almost finished his examination
of the body, rearranged the clothing, and
was just placing the hands in the position
in which he found them, when his keen
eye detected a slight discoloration of the
left wrist.

Upon close examination, he discovered
a very small wound--almost a pin-hole.

An almost imperceptible discoloration
extended from this wound up along the
wrist.

In a moment Nick produced a small
surgical pincers and drew from the little
wound a needle-like piece of silver.

It was the point of a hypodermic
syringe.

This he stowed away with the hat-pin.

A few moments afterward young Rogers
made his appearance.

"There is a mystery here," said Nick.

"What have you learned?"

"That I cannot tell even you, sir--at
least not yet. But I shall have to ask you
a few questions. Remember, if you do not
answer them truthfully, or if you keep
back any information concerning this matter,
I shall not be responsible for the consequences."

"Mr. Carter," cried Rogers, "what do
you mean?"

"Exactly what I say. You must trust
me with all your secrets, if I require to
know them. Otherwise, you will never
know how your father died."

The young man became pale and flushed
in turn. He seemed to be suffering from
intense mental disturbance.

But, at last, he regained his composure,
and said:

"I shall not conceal anything from you,
Mr. Carter. But," he falteringly continued,
"publicity must only be given to
those matters that directly concern my
father’s death."

"Good!" said Nick. "And now, Mr.
Rogers, let us be seated; for I have much
to learn from you. Had your father ever
suffered from any complaint that would
need hypodermic injections?"

Rogers looked at him in amazement
and answered:

"Yes. He complained of neuralgic rheumatism
for some years."

"And sought relief by injections of
morphine, no doubt."

"Yes, sir. Dr. Lord prescribed it."

"Are you quite sure that he used only
morphine?"

"Certain."

"Did he use the hypodermic syringe
himself?" asked Nick.

"No, sir."

"Who gave him the injections?"

"Dr. Lord."

"Was Dr. Lord here on the evening
preceding his death?"

"Yes; he had dinner here that evening."

"Then he is a friend of the family?"

"Yes, sir. He is engaged to be married
to my sister."

Nick’s face brightened; but he pretended
not to notice the announcement
which young Rogers had just made.

Continuing, he said:

"When did Dr. Lord leave here that
evening?"

"Shortly after dinner. He had an urgent
call to a patient at Roxbury."

"And your father retired shortly after?"

"No; he did not go to his room until
ten o’clock."

"When did you discover that he was
dead?"

"When Jones went to bring him his
chocolate, at seven o’clock yesterday
morning."

"What happened then?"

"We sent for Dr. Lord, who examined
him and pronounced it heart disease. He
went away then, and returned shortly
afterward with another doctor."

"Did the strange doctor agree with Dr.
Lord?"

"Yes. Dr. White also said heart
disease."

"Who was in the house besides your
father, sister, the colored man, and yourself
after Dr. Lord went away?"

Rogers became nervous, which fact
Nick immediately noticed.

The young man replied:

"My sister was not here. She is in
Philadelphia."

"Does she know of your father’s death?"

"Yes. But my uncle has prevailed upon
her not to return just now."

"Is your uncle coming to the funeral?"

"Yes; he will be here this afternoon."

"You have not told me," said Nick,
"who was in the house the night before
last after Dr. Lord went away."

Rogers became disconcerted again; but
he replied:

"My father, Jones, the cook, chamber-maid,
and myself."

"You are sure there was no one else?"

The young fellow again faltered and
became very pale. And then, with an
effort, he replied:

"Yes; I am quite certain of it."

"When was the marriage of your sister
to Dr. Lord to have taken place?" asked
Carter.

Rogers breathed freely again as he answered:

"Father wanted it to take place next
month."

"And was it fixed for that date?"

"Well, no," hesitatingly.

"Was there some barrier?"

"The fact is, Mr. Carter, I am also engaged
to be married, and my sister and I
decided to have the two events come off
together."

"A capital idea!" said Nick. "But
why couldn’t you have arranged it so?"

"Well, we--that is, I hadn’t fixed upon
any particular time. Miss Bland and I are
not in a hurry, you know."

"And your sister? Was she anxious for
her wedding day?"

"Not exactly," hurriedly cried Rogers.
"She is not head over heels in love with
Lord; but father was anxious for the
match."

"And how does the doctor feel about
it?"

"Oh, he is very ardent in his suit."

"I see," mused Nick. "Tell me," he
continued, "did your father make a will?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know its contents?"

"Yes."

"What are the provisions?"

"It is very simple, but a little curious."

"In what way is it curious?"

"It stipulates that his entire property
is to be divided equally between Aimee
and me, upon certain conditions. The
estate is valued at about three hundred
thousand dollars, and the only strange
condition of the will is that, in the event
of his death before Aimee’s marriage with
Dr. Lord she is to get one-half of his entire
estate if she marries him within six
months of his, my father’s, decease. But
that, in the event of this marriage not
taking place within that time she is only
to receive the interest upon twenty thousand
dollars for life."

"And what becomes of the balance?"

"It reverts to me absolutely."

"Does Dr. Lord know the provisions of
your father’s will?"

"Yes, sir. He has seen it."

"Does he know that you telegraphed
for me?"

"No."

"Very well. Now, I shall have to leave
you," said Nick; "but I shall probably
return in the afternoon. In the meantime
do not disclose my presence or identity to
anybody."

And as he moved toward the door, he
added:

"I think you might send for the undertaker,
and have the body placed in the
coffin at once."

Nick immediately walked in the direction
of the telegraph office.

Having arrived there, he sent the following
telegram in usual cipher:

"Mrs. Nicholas Carter, New York City:
Send Ida to Philadelphia immediately.
Tell her to stop at usual hotel. I will telegraph
her instructions this evening."

From here he walked slowly toward the
cars, and was just about to board one
bound for Boston, when he stopped and
said:

"I must see that doctor."

He retraced his steps and entered the
nearest drug store.

"Can you tell me where Dr. Lord
lives?" he inquired from the clerk.

"Certainly, sir. Straight up the road
opposite. I forget the number; but you
cannot make a mistake, for you will see a
brass plate, with his name, on the garden
gate."

"Thank you," said Nick. "But perhaps
that is not the Dr. Lord I want."

"It must be," said the clerk, laughing,
"for he is the only Lord in Dorchester."

A few minutes afterward Nick Carter
was ushered into the reception-room of
Mr. Rogers’ physician.

Apparently the reception-room was also
used as a kind of auxiliary surgery; for,
upon a table, were a number of surgical
instruments of various kinds.

Nick noticed this with satisfaction, and
he moved over toward the table in order
to more closely inspect the contents.

Just then the servant entered the room
and announced that the doctor would be
disengaged in a few minutes.

"You’re in luck, Nick!" muttered the
detective, as he forthwith proceeded to
inspect the surgical instruments. There
were forceps, and lancets, and clinical
thermometers by the dozen; but what attracted
Nick’s eye were four hypodermic
syringe cases.

He opened them one after another, and
when he got to the last--which was
smaller than the others--he held it in his
hand only for a moment; then opening
the case, he found a small syringe from
which the pointer needle had been broken
off at the base.

Taking from his pocket the point which
he had removed from Mr. Rogers’ wrist,
he was not surprised to find that it fitted
exactly.

He quickly replaced the broken syringe
in its case and resumed his seat.

Shortly after a tall, dark, good-looking
man entered the room.

Nick recognized him from a photograph
he had seen at Rogers’.

"Dr. Lord, I presume," he remarked.

"Yes, sir. What can I do for you?"
said the medical gentleman, with a pleasant
voice.

"Have you any surgical instruments to
be repaired?" said Nick.

"No, sir," politely replied the doctor.
"When surgical instruments need repairing
it is generally time to get new ones.
I am sorry I have nothing in your line to-day."

As he said this he was very courteously
opening the door for his visitor; but Nick
was not so easily dismissed.

"You will excuse me, sir," he said,
"but while I was waiting I took the liberty
of looking over your instruments yonder.
They are beautiful tools; but I
noticed that a remarkably fine hypodermic
syringe has the point broken off."

"By the way," said the doctor, interrupting
him, "I wish I knew where that
came from. It isn’t mine. It is of a very
curious pattern, too."

"Yes, doctor," said Nick, "it is a
curious little syringe. But it is remarkable
that it could have found its way here
without your knowledge."

The doctor did not quite like this
remark. He showed it in his face, which
Nick was intently watching.

"I would like to buy it from you," said
the pretended surgical instrument maker,
not noticing the doctor’s look of impatience.

"Oh," said the latter, "it is not mine
to sell. I found it upon my table yesterday
evening, and I cannot possibly trace
an ownership for it among my callers."

"It is of Spanish make," said Nick,
who was carefully examining it.

But this did not enlighten Dr. Lord.
He was beginning to tire of the pertinacity
of his visitor, and finally, to get rid of
him, he said:

"Well, you can take it away with you.
It is useless to me, and as it is also useless
to whoever left it here, I dare say they
won’t return for it."

Nick was profuse in his thanks, and
was hurrying toward Boston in a very
few moments.

He had noticed that the graduated
cylinder of the syringe contained a small
quantity of some kind of liquid, and he
determined to have it analyzed.

At the same time he remembered the
small vial which he had found in the
snow, at the Providence depot; and, upon
his arrival at the city analyst’s, he handed
that gentleman the two articles.

He gave him his card, and the moment
the analyst recognized the name of the
great New York detective he became particularly
attentive, and after a careful
examination, he pronounced the contents
of the syringe to be the same as the vial,
and a deadly poison it was.

"Supposing some of it was injected into
a man’s wrist, what would happen?" said
Nick.

"Happen? Why, the man would be
dead in ten second or less. This is a South
American poison, Mr. Carter. It is, perhaps,
the most deadly in existence, and
the peculiar thing about it is the fact that
in doing its work in the human system, it
so quickly assimilates with the blood that
it is next to impossible to trace it. Another
strange thing about it is that it acts directly
upon the heart, and in such a manner that
the most experienced physician will imagine
the victim died from heart disease."

Nick thanked the analyst, and went at
once to the Adams House for letters and
telegrams from Chick. The coincidence
of the fluids contained in the hypodermic
syringe and in the vial, which he picked
up in the snow at the Providence depot,
being the same was remarkable, and, as
he walked along, he mused:

"One hundred and fifty thousand dollars
and a pretty girl is a big stake to lose, Dr.
Lord. But it wasn’t a man of science who
placed that syringe point in
man’s wrist!"




CHAPTER II.

THE CUBAN GIRL.


When Nick had attended to Chick’s
messages he sent a long letter to Ida, in
which he instructed her to find out the
private address of James Rogers; to go
there; try to ascertain whether or not
Aimee Rogers really loved Dr. Lord, and
to telegraph to him the moment she got
the required information.

Darkness was now setting in, and Nick
Carter strolled along Washington street.
As he went by the passage that leads to
Parke’s restaurant, he decided to take his
dinner there, and accordingly, five minutes
later, he was seated at a corner table,
waiting for his order.

At a large table, close to him, four
fashionably dressed young men were dining.
The dishes had all been removed,
and they were now enjoying their cigars
over some black coffee and brandy.

Nick Carter soon disposed of the plain
course which he had ordered, and was
about to leave the restaurant when he
heard one of the young fellows say:

"Sad about Sam Rogers’ governor,
wasn’t it?"

"Waiter! Bring me a cup of coffee!"
said Nick.

He then took a newspaper from his
pocket and pretended to read it.

While listening attentively to the conversation
of the four young fellows, he
heard one of them say:

"I dare say old Rogers’ death will postpone
Sam’s marriage with Miss Bland."

"I shouldn’t be surprised," said another.

"Lucky dog," said the first speaker.
"They say that Lucy Bland is worth fully
half a million."

"At least," rejoined his friend. "But
look here, Porter, when did you see Sam’s
other girl, the olive-tinted loved one?
That girl will give him some trouble, if
he is not more careful."

"See her? My dear fellow, I saw her
last night."

"Where?"

"At the Providence depot, just as the
snow stopped falling."

Nick Carter took a deep drink of his
coffee and listened very intently now.

"What was she doing?" asked one of
the speakers. "Going to New York?"

"Precisely. I bowed to her and asked if
I could be of any service. She simply
asked me the best hotel to stop at in
Providence. I told her, and said, ‘You
are surely not going to stop at that awful
hole.’"

"You have cheek," interrupted one of
the diners.

"Oh, you be blowed!" said the gentleman
named Porter. "The girl laughed at
the idea of remaining in Providence. She
said that she merely intended stopping
there for the night, and that she was going
to New York by the nine o’clock boat
to-day."

"If Rogers hears that you are interesting
yourself in that girl, Porter, it will be
pistols and coffee for two. By the way,
what’s the divinity’s name?"

"Alvarez. I think she is a Cuban, or
South American, or something of that
kind."

Nick didn’t wait to hear any more.

He hurriedly paid his bill and left the
restaurant.

It was now five o’clock.

"I have just time to notify Chick," he
said.

In two minutes he was at the telegraph
office, in the Parker House, writing the
following dispatch to his faithful assistant:

"Meet boat left Providence nine o’clock
this morning. Observe handsome Cuban
lady named Alvarez. Keep her within
distance until you hear from me.

"Nick."

He then returned to his hotel and wrote
a letter to Chick, directing him to shadow
his woman, find out all about her, and, if
possible, discover what her business was.

Half an hour later he rang the bell at
the Rogers mansion.

The door was opened by young Rogers
in person, who led the way to the parlor.

"Is Dr. Lord here?" asked Nick, before
the young man could say a word.

"Yes. He is with my uncle, who has
also arrived."

"Well, he mustn’t see me. He might
recognize me if we keep talking here."

"Recognize you?" said Rogers, when
he had conducted Nick to his own bed
chamber. "What do you mean, Mr. Carter?
Does he know you?"

"I don’t think so; but, you know, doctors
and detectives often meet under peculiar
circumstances."

Rogers gave him a puzzled look.

He clearly did not understand Nick
Carter’s ways.

And Nick clearly determined that he
should not.

As they proceeded to another room,
Nick asked:

"When did you see the woman Alvarez
last?"

"Mr. Carter!" cried Rogers, turning
deathly pale, "where on earth did you
learn anything about her?"

"I have many channels from which to
gather my information," said Nick, coolly.
"But you have not answered my question.
When did you see her last?"

"The evening before my father died."

"Was she in the house after Dr. Lord
went away?"

"In the name of goodness, what have
you learned?" asked Rogers, in apparent
terror.

"A good deal about your relations with
her, my dear young sir," said Nick, who
was narrowly watching the perturbation
of his companion.

The young fellow’s eyes twitched nervously;
he was trembling, Nick saw
plainly.

He altered his tactics, and said:

"Look here, Mr. Rogers, you told me
this morning that you would conceal
nothing from me. Do you think you are
treating me fairly?"

"Well," said the young fellow, who
was crushed from amazement more than
anything else, "I shall make a clean
breast of it."




CHAPTER III.

"ANOTHER CUBAN."


"What I am about to disclose to you,
you will promise to keep as secret as the
grave?"

"I make no promise and must use my
own judgment," replied Nick.

"Well, then, the woman whom you
call Alvarez is my wife."

"Your wife?" said Nick, with real surprise.

"Unhappily, it is so."

"I thought you said you were engaged
to be married to Miss Bland?" interjected
Nick.

"Yes, sir. But I shall have to explain
everything to you. When I was in Florida
last winter I met her. She was very beautiful,
and threw herself in my way. I became
infatuated, and one night, while
slightly intoxicated, I consented to marry
her secretly. Her brother, who was present,
insisted upon the marriage taking
place at once. I discovered a few days
afterward that the brother was one of a
gang of desperate gamblers. Ever since
that night my life has been a misery."

"Have you lived with her?" asked
Nick.

"No; but she has continually blackmailed
me upon threat of making public
the marriage. Finally I confessed to my
father, who was urging me to marry Miss
Bland--to whom I have been engaged for
nearly three years. He sent for her, and
asked her to put in writing the terms
upon which she would consent to a
divorce."

"When did this happen, Mr. Rogers?"

"A few days ago."

"On the day before your father was
murdered?"

"No; on the day preceding that she
came to see him."

"Were you present at the interview?"

"Yes."

"Good! Now tell me exactly what occurred
at that meeting."

"She said that she would consent to a
divorce for fifty thousand dollars. Father
agreed to pay that sum in exchange for
the certificate of divorce, and to pay her
expenses to California and allow her a
certain amount to live there until the
divorce was granted."

"Well, what then?"

"He asked her to put it in writing. She
called the next evening, after Dr. Lord
had left, and said she would not do it for
less than one hundred thousand dollars.

"My father told her that this was impossible.
He read for her his will, and explained
that by conceding fifty thousand
dollars he was robbing my sister and
myself of a large part of our heritage."

"Did he read for her the clause connected
with your sister losing her portion
if she did not marry the doctor within six
months?"

"Yes, sir--every word of it."

"What then?" asked Nick.

"She produced a written document, of
which this is a copy."

Nick took the document and glanced it
over. Turning to Rogers, he said:

"Do you know, sir, that this bond holds
as good against your father’s estate, upon
the production of the certificate of divorce,
as if he had lived."

"Yes, I do."

"But you don’t seem to recognize that
she can continue her blackmailing scheme
all the same, without annulling this instrument.
It is a clever document, Mr.
Rogers--very clever. In fact, I do not
believe the woman ever drew up such an
instrument herself."

"Then what do you believe?"

"I cannot tell you just yet. But I want
you to answer me one more question:
Did you have any conversation with her
after your father signed that bond?"

"Yes."

"What was it about?"

"I promised her twenty-five thousand
dollars on my own account."

"Did she leave the house then?"

"Yes. I accompanied her to the railway
station."

Nick looked puzzled.

"Had your father retired to his room
before you left the house?" he asked.

"No. But he had gone before I returned."

"And you never saw him alive again?"

"No, sir."

"Who let you in when you got back
from the railway station?"

"Jones."

"Have you perfect confidence in that
colored man, Mr. Rogers?" asked Nick.

"Absolute. He has been with us for
over ten years."

"Did he accompany the family to Florida
last winter?"

"Yes."

Nick Carter became silent.

He seemed to be buried in deep thought.

At length he looked intently at Rogers
and said:

"Have you anything more to say, Mr.
Rogers?"

"Nothing that I can think of."

"Very well. I shall now bid you good-night.
I shall call upon you again to-morrow,
and remember, silence is a necessity."

"The funeral takes place to-morrow
morning at ten o’clock, Mr. Carter, but I
shall be home again about two."

"I shall call after that hour. Good-night,
Mr. Rogers."

When he had got a little away from the
house, Nick stopped and looked back.

"I wish the moon would come out," he
muttered. "I should like to explore the
road between here and the next railway
station."

At that instant his sharp ears detected
a soft footfall in the snow behind him.

He turned suddenly.

That movement undoubtedly saved his
life.

By the dim light that came from one of
the windows of the house, he saw, outlined
against the snow, the form of a man, who,
with uplifted hand, was about to plunge
a knife into his back.

In a second the would-be assassin found
his wrist held by an iron grasp, and with
a smothered cry of pain, the knife fell
from his hand.

At the same moment the hall door was
opened, and a flood of light rushed out
upon the scene, revealing the features of
Nick’s assailant. Dr. Lord was coming
out.

As Nick did not wish to see the doctor,
or rather, as he did not wish to be seen
by him, he flung the would-be assassin
from him, picked up the knife and stepped
into the shadow of the shrubbery. When
the doctor had passed out of the lawn,
Nick came from his hiding-place and went
toward the nearest railway station, saying,
as he walked:

"Another Cuban!"




CHAPTER IV.

IT WORKED LIKE A CHARM.


When he arrived at the Adams House,
he found a telegram from Chick, which
read:

"Alvarez at Spanish-American Hotel.
Dining with the Cuban, Moreno. Shall
endeavor to overhear conversation. If important,
will report at Boston and put
Patsy on the case here."

"Good!" said Nick. "The fellow who
tried to knock me out must be one of
Moreno’s gang. I must warn Chick."

He forthwith sent the following cipher
telegram:

"Telegram received. Moreno’s gang
have discovered I am on case. One of
them made attempt on my life. Act cautiously,
and come on if anything important.

                                                                 NICK."


He handed this to the operator in the
hotel corridor, and, feeling satisfied that
nothing more could be done that night,
he retired to his room.

Early in the morning he was awakened
by a loud knocking at the door.

"A telegram for you, sir!" said a voice.

"Push it under the door!" cried Nick.

He tore open the dispatch and seemed
to be completely mystified by the contents.
It read:


"Rogers case. Watch Lord. Am writing.
Important news.

                                                                CHICK."


He dressed himself hurriedly, and immediately
telegraphed to Chick:

"Received telegram. Come on at once.
Put Patsy in charge.

NICK."

After breakfast he took the train to
Dorchester.

It was now nine o’clock, and the funeral
was to take place at ten.

He wandered up the road where Lord’s
house was situated, and was just making
up his mind to call when he saw a carriage
stop at the gate.

"Too late," said Nick. "The fellow is
just going up to Rogers’ place."

Nevertheless, he lolled about in the
shadow of the trees.

In a few minutes Dr. Lord’s door was
opened, and Nick Carter saw a sight that
surprised even him.

Walking down the garden path, apparently
in earnest conversation, were the
doctor and the Cuban who had attempted
to assassinate him the night before. Dr.
Lord got into the carriage; but the Cuban,
taking off his hat respectfully, turned
from the place and walked down the road,
followed by Nick at a safe distance, who
saw his man enter a street car bound toward
Boston.

Nick hailed a cab near at hand.

He merely showed the driver his badge
and said:

"Keep that car in sight; but do not
pass it!"

"Trust me, sir," said the hackman,
with a knowing wink.

When his fare stepped out of the cab,
at the corner of Kneeland and Washington
streets, the driver nearly lost his balance
from the shock.

A lively-looking chap got into the cab
in Dorchester, and a staid-looking clergyman
paid him his fare in Washington
street.

The Cuban had left the street car at the
next block, and Nick hurried after him
on foot.

The man entered the United States
Hotel, and immediately went to the office.

Nick Carter was close at his elbow.

"Any letters or telegrams for Gonzales?"
inquired the Cuban.

"Yes, sir. One telegram," said the
clerk, who handed it to him.

He tore open the envelope and began
to read the dispatch.

Nick was watching him intently, although
he was apparently studying a
time-table.

The Cuban seemed to be puzzled about
something in that telegram.

He looked around uneasily, still holding
the message in his hand.

Finally his eyes rested on the clergyman,
and he approached him.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, with a pronounced
foreign accent. "I am a stranger.
I have just received this telegram."

Here he handed the dispatch to Nick
and added:

"What is the meaning of Bay State,
Worcester?"

Nick Carter looked up from the telegram
and replied, in a well-disguised
voice:

"There is a hotel in Worcester called
the Bay State; but this message tells you
to ask somebody named Rogers about it."

The Cuban laughed and said:

"No, no! You no understand. But I
thank you for explain hotel."

Whereupon he took the telegram from
Nick, lifted his hat courteously, and disappeared
in the direction of the bar.

The moment he was out of sight, Nick
said to himself:

"That worked like a charm. The dispatch
must have been from Moreno."

He immediately took off his disguise
and ordered a cab.

"To police headquarters!" was his instruction
to the driver.

When he arrived there, he asked to see
the chief.

"Why, Mr. Carter, how do you do?"
cordially welcomed the head of Boston’s
police.

"I want you to do me a favor," said
Nick.

"Certainly, my dear sir. Got some important
case on, I’ll wager."

"Yes," mildly returned Nick. "It is a
very mysterious case. I want you to arrest
a Cuban named Gonzales, and hold him
without examination for me. If you do
this secretly you will oblige me, as his
detention may be of much importance."

"With pleasure," said the chief, as he
touched a bell.

An officer answered instantly.

"Send Waldo here at once."

"Yes, sir.

"Waldo," said the chief, when the detective
entered, "go with this gentleman
and arrest the party he will point out.
Ask no questions, and bring your prisoner.
Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

At the United States Hotel, Waldo,
who spoke Spanish fluently, asked for
Gonzales.

He was in his room.

Waldo ascended to the Cuban’s apartment,
and returned in about ten minutes
with his prisoner. Nobody in the hotel
corridor imagined for a moment that an
arrest had been made, so friendly did the
pair seem to be.

Only one person understood the situation.

That was Nick, who anxiously watched
them from the paper stand, fearful that
the Cuban might make a break for liberty.

But Waldo knew his business too well.

He hailed a cab, ordered Gonzales to
get in, and, having taken a seat opposite
his prisoner, he directed the cabman to
drive to police headquarters.

When they had gone, Nick consulted
his watch.

It was half-past one.

"Now for young Rogers!" he cried.




CHAPTER V.

A TERRIBLE POISON.


"Mr. Rogers," said Nick, when he
was alone with that young gentleman,
"can you come with me for about two
hours?"

"Now?"

"Yes; at once."

"Where are you going?" asked the
young man.

"To police headquarters."

"Police headquarters?" exclaimed Rogers,
in dismay. "What on earth do you
want me to go there for, Mr. Carter. You
surely have not placed this matter in the
hands of the police?"

"No, sir. The suspicion or fact that
your father has been murdered is unknown
to a single soul, outside you and me."

"But won’t my going to police headquarters
attract attention?"

"I have arranged that no one shall
know of your visit. If it was not of great
importance, I should not ask you to leave
the house at such a time."

"Very well, sir," said Rogers. "Let us
go at once, as my uncle will be back at
five o’clock for dinner. He goes away by
the six-thirty train."

"Where is he now?" asked Nick.

"With the lawyer, in Boston. My
father left him sole executor."

When they arrived at police headquarters,
they were met by the chief, who
ushered them into his private room.

"We wish to see the prisoner without
being observed by him," said Nick. "Use
the screen."

"All right," said the chief.

He requested his visitors to stand behind
a large screen, in which there were
several small holes.

A few minutes afterward Gonzales appeared,
accompanied by Waldo. Nick
now directed Rogers to look through one
of the holes in the screen.

The young man did so, and immediately
drew back with a visible shudder.
He seemed to be extremely agitated upon
recognizing the Cuban, and was about to
say something to Nick, when that gentleman
put his finger to his lips and
signaled him to be silent.

At that moment the chief said to the
prisoner:

"What is your name?"

"Manuel Gonzales."

"Write your name in this book."

This was in compliance with a request
which Nick had made.

When the prisoner had been removed,
Rogers turned quickly to Nick Carter and
exclaimed:

"That was her brother. His name is
Alvarez, not Gonzales."

"When did you see this man last?"
asked Nick, when they got outside.

"Last winter. At Tampa, Florida."

"Are you quite certain you have not
seen him since then?"

"Absolutely certain. But how on earth
did you get hold of him, and for what?"

"You will know that later, Mr. Rogers."

They were now driving rapidly toward
Dorchester, and Nick decided to discontinue
his investigations until he was safely
closeted with his companion in the latter’s
home.

Having arrived there, Nick asked him
abruptly:

"Was Dr. Lord at Tampa with you last
winter?"

"Yes."

"Did he also meet this fellow Alvarez?"

"I am not certain; but I think he must
have seen him, as he and I frequently
went to the gambling rooms where
Alvarez did business."

"Tell me," said Nick. "Would it not
be to your interest if your sister did not
marry Dr. Lord?"

This sudden question confused young
Rogers.

"I do not know what you mean, Mr.
Carter," he faltered.

"I will put it plainer. Do you wish
your sister to marry Dr. Lord?"

"I do."

"Now, Mr. Rogers, I want you to answer
me truthfully: Are you afraid of
your wife?"

"I do not understand."

"Come, sir, are you not afraid that the
price of her secrecy about your marriage
will be a perpetual blackmail?"

The young man became very nervous;
but he answered:

"Yes; I do fear that she will continue
to blackmail me."

"For that reason," said Nick, "would
you not like to have the one hundred and
thirty thousand dollars which your sister
would lose if she did not marry Dr. Lord?"

"I assure you, Mr. Carter, that, no matter
what that woman--my wife--wishes,
I sincerely hope to see my sister married
to the doctor."

Nick noticed that he put particular emphasis
upon the words, "no matter what
that woman wishes," and he did not ask
the young man another question.

Ten minutes later he rang the bell at
Dr. Lord’s door and was admitted.

"Well, sir," said the doctor, who was
visibly displeased when he saw Nick, "I
thought I told you yesterday that I had
no surgical instruments that wanted repairing."

"So you did, doctor; but I have made a
discovery that may interest you."

"What is it?" asked the doctor. "I am
in a hurry, for I have to visit a patient."

"It is this," said Nick, producing the
hypodermic syringe case.

The doctor became interested.

"Oh, you have discovered something
about that, have you?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Have you found the owner?"

"No," said Nick, intently watching
his listener’s face. "I have not discovered
the owner; but I have found the point
that was broken off."

"Let me see it," said the doctor.

Nick handed it to him.

"Yes," said the medical man; "this is
certainly the missing point. Where did
you find it?"

"Ah, that’s a secret, doctor. But I believe
you know the person to whom it
belongs."

"Absurd! If I did, I should not have
given it to you."

"It was well you did," said Nick, "or
we might never have been able to locate
where this point came from."

"It makes very little difference one way
or the other," said the doctor, who was
now beginning to feel bored.

"Don’t you remember," said Nick,
"that I said it was of Spanish make?"

"Well, what of that?"

"Had you not a Spanish visitor the day
before yesterday?"

The doctor started.

"What do you mean?" he cried.

"I was thinking that perhaps he might
have left it behind. And if you gave me
his address, doctor, I would call upon him
and offer to mend it."

Dr. Lord laughed and said:

"Yes, I had a Spanish visitor the day
before yesterday. But it wasn’t a man. It
was a lady."

"I found a new kind of fluid in this
little syringe, doctor," said Nick, adroitly
changing the subject.

"Indeed?"

"Yes. You know that people who understand
surgical instruments usually go
in for a little chemistry, too. When I
examined the cylinder of this syringe I
noticed a small quantity of colorless liquid
in it; so I took it out and analyzed it."

The doctor was now becoming interested
again, and Nick continued:

"I found it was a terrible poison."

"What?" cried Dr. Lord.

"Yes, doctor. That little syringe contained
enough poison to kill a dozen men."

"You astonish me!" said the doctor.

"I have a little vial of the same drug
here," said Nick, producing the one which
he had picked up in the snow.

Dr. Lord took it in his hand and examined
it curiously.

"You are certain that this is the same
fluid?" he said, looking inquiringly at
Nick.

"Absolutely certain, doctor. And it
strikes me that it is a rather dangerous
one to give a hypodermic injection with."

"You forget," said the doctor, "that
all drugs are greatly diluted before being
used for injection purposes."

"That is true," said Nick, apologetically.

"However," said Dr. Lord, "I shall
consider it a favor if you will allow me to
examine this. I have never seen anything
like it before."

"You may do so," said Nick, and he
continued: "Perhaps you would like to
know where I discovered the point of the
syringe?"

"Yes. Where did you find it?"

"In a dead man’s wrist!"

"What?" cried the doctor.

"It is as I have said," calmly rejoined
Nick. "And now, doctor, I shall not detain
you any longer from your patient. I
shall call for the vial to-morrow."




CHAPTER VI.

"CAN HE SUSPECT?"


When Nick Carter reached the Adams
House, it was just six o’clock.

A tall, clerical-looking man met him in
the hallway.

It was Chick, Nick’s assistant.

"Well, Chick," said Nick, when they
were seated in his room, "what’s the
news?"

"The woman who claims to be Mrs.
Rogers is already married to Moreno."

"His wife?"

"Yes."

"Did you learn their game?"

"Yes. Blackmail."

"I know that; but what else?"

"I dined at the next table to theirs last
night, and learned that they have some
deep scheme to prevent a man named
Lord from getting married. Her brother
was to have seen him this morning. That
was why I sent the second telegram."

"Yes, yes. Go ahead," cried Nick.

"I think young Rogers is in the deal."

"No, he isn’t," said Nick. "Is that
all?"

"Yes."

"Good, Chick!"

At that moment there was a knock at
the door and a bell-boy handed in a telegram.

It was from Patsy, and read:

"Alvarez woman and Moreno started
for Boston on four-thirty train.

"PATSY."

"Moreno, too! That’s good."

Then addressing Chick, Nick said:

"You meet Moreno at the railroad
depot. I have to go to Worcester by the
six-forty train. And see here. If anything
serious turns up, telegraph to me at the
Bay State Hotel."

It was just nine o’clock when the Boston
train rolled into Worcester station.

The ground was still covered with snow
from the storm of a few days before; but
it had been freezing hard, and now a
heavy crust made walking rather pleasant.

Nick stood outside the depot for a moment,
and looked at the sky and the
snow-covered road, as if considering
whether he would walk to the hotel or
ride. While he was thus engaged, he
heard the rumbling of an incoming train.

"This is the New York express," said
he, and he immediately withdrew into the
shadow of the ticket office and watched
the passengers as they came out.

There was the usual bustle and hurrying
hither and thither that accompanies the
arrival of a passenger train.

Thirty or forty persons came from the
platform, grip or satchel in hand, and
went out into the street, and finally there
passed close to Nick the two individuals
he most desired to see.

They were Anita and Moreno.

The latter was apparently giving her
some very serious instructions.

But the gateman shouted:

"All aboard for Boston!"

Moreno hastily wrung Anita’s hand and
rushed back to the train, and the lady
gathered up her dress and went to the
depot entrance.

Nick watched her board a cab and heard
her order the driver to take her to the
Bay State Hotel.

He followed leisurely on foot.

Having arrived at the hotel, he nodded
to the clerk at the desk and asked to see
the register.

"I want to see a lady who was to have
arrived from New York to-day."

There were two recent signatures on
the book.

One was in a delicate feminine hand,
and read:

"Mrs. Rogers, New York."

The other was also in a woman’s
writing.

It was:

"A. Lord, Boston."

It was now evident that the "ask
Rogers" in the Gonzales telegram meant,
ask for Rogers.

The second entry was rather strange;
but it did not puzzle Nick Carter. Addressing
the clerk, he said:

"Can I see Mrs. Rogers?"

"Are you her brother, sir--Mr. Lord,
for whom she registered?" asked the clerk.

"Yes," replied Nick.

"Her room is number 46; yours is 47,
sir--right opposite."

"Thank you," said Nick.

The bell-boy led the way to room 47,
and Nick immediately took possession and
bolted the door on the inside.

"Now for it!" he exclaimed as he removed
his hat and overcoat.

A few moments afterward there was a
rap at the door.

He at once drew the bolt.

The door opened, and Anita Alvarez
entered.

"I beg your pardon," she said, in perfect
English. "That stupid clerk must
have made a mistake!"

She was about to retreat immediately,
but Nick stepped between her and the
door, and said:

"I assure you, madame, the clerk made
no mistake. Mr. Gonzales was unable to
meet you here tonight. I have come from
him----”

"Let me pass!" interrupted the woman,
with an imperious gesture.

"You really must excuse me, madame!"
said Nick, courteously. "I am Sam
Rogers’ friend----”

"I do not understand you, sir," said
Anita, whose color had heightened at the
mention of young Rogers’ name.

"Pray be seated, and I shall explain
myself," said Nick, in his most gracious
manner.

"I must insist upon your allowing me
to leave this room instantly!"

She looked very beautiful at that moment,
and Nick said to himself:

"It is no wonder young Rogers fell in
love with her."

"Why do you detain me?" she cried,
with increasing anger.

"I beg of you to keep calm," said
Nick. "I have come as a messenger from
your brother and Mr. Rogers."

"How am I to know this?"

"You must surely know, madame, that
unless Gonzales told me where to meet
you and had instructed me to assume the
role of your brother, I would not be here."

This seemed so reasonable that she consented
to be seated.

She then asked:

"Why did not my brother come himself?"

"He had to keep an eye upon the
movements of Nick Carter, the New York
detective."

That reply gave her confidence, and she
said:

"Mr.---- eh. You haven’t given me
your name."

"Rogers, madame. I am Sam’s
cousin," coolly replied Nick.

"Oh, I suppose you came over from
Philadelphia for the funeral."

"Precisely, madame. Sam has confided
everything to me."

"He made an awful mistake in sending
for that man, Nick Carter," said Anita.

"I don’t agree with you."

"You don’t know him, Mr. Rogers.
That man will be sure to ferret out the
truth. What I told Sam to do was to
engage an ordinary detective, and if he
did that, suspicion would most surely fall
upon Dr. Lord. However, Moreno and
Manuel will probably be able to arrange
matters."

Nick was becoming enlightened.

"I don’t think the doctor is out of the
woods yet," said he.

"If he does get out, it is Sam’s own
fault," said the lady, "and I will never
allow him to marry Miss Bland."

"He did what he considered was for the
best."

"Oh, he is too weak. But tell me what
news you have from my brother?"

"Sam refuses to see him."

"I know it. That is why Moreno has
gone to Boston."

"I don’t believe my cousin will have
dealings with Mr. Moreno."

"If he does not, I shall at once go there
and announce myself as his wife."

"If you do this, he will take steps to
secure a divorce. Public sentiment would
now be upon his side, and you would
probably lose all."

"Ah! This is that Nick Carter’s work."

She became thoughtful for a moment
and then cried:

"How stupid of Manuel to have bungled
last night!"

"I do not understand you," said Nick,
who, nevertheless, now discovered that
the attack upon his life was planned by
Moreno and the woman.

"I do not wish you to understand," said
Anita, testily. "But you can tell Sam
Rogers that, unless he agrees to my proposition,
he will never marry Miss Bland."

"He has deputed me to act for him,
madame, and if you will tell me your
final proposal, I shall be able to say
directly whether or not he will accept it."

"I shall not alter my proposition in the
slightest. I must have one hundred thousand
dollars in cash. He cannot pay this
unless the match between his sister and
Dr. Lord is broken off, and the only possible
way to break it off is to accuse the
doctor of the murder of old Mr. Rogers."

"But the doctor might be acquitted!"
interjected Nick.

"I don’t think so. Why, even Nick
Carter, the detective, will have to swear
that he found the point of the hypodermic
syringe in Mr. Rogers’ wrist, and the
broken syringe in the doctor’s room.
That would convict him in any court.
Besides, it is very unlikely that Miss
Rogers would marry a man about whom
there was even a suspicion of having murdered
her father. However, you now
know the only conditions upon which I
will get a divorce, and unless Sam consents
at once, in writing, I will proclaim
myself his wife and will go to police headquarters
and tell them about the poison
that was injected into Mr. Rogers wrist."

"Sam loves his sister," said Nick.

"I know he does," interrupted Anita.
"But if he loves himself or Miss Bland,
who, you know, is worth half a million,
he will be a man and do what I demand.
He can give his sister the money she will
lose by not marrying Lord out of Miss
Bland’s fortune."

"I am afraid he will not comply with
your demand," said Nick.

"Has he any proposition to make?"

"Yes. He will guarantee to pay you the
one hundred thousand dollars after you
procure the divorce, and he is married to
Miss Bland."

"Does he think I am a fool?" she cried,
angrily. "But I know this is not his
doing. He has confided in Nick Carter.
It is that wretch who is advising him. It
is well he does not know the entire
truth."

"What do you mean, madame? Sam assured
me that he knew everything about
his father’s death."

"No, he does not. I am annoyed, Mr.
Rogers. However, I have no more to say."

She paused for a few moments, and
then, as if her whole being was inflamed
with ferocity, she cried:

"Oh, if Manuel had only succeeded, I
could force him to do my bidding!"

"Of course you refer to the fact that
Sam would not see your brother", said
Nick innocently.

"Yes."

As she uttered that word, she looked in
a fright at Nick, and the thought flashed
across her mind:

"Can he suspect what I mean?"

Nick’s features were perfectly impassive,
however, and addressing him, she
said:

"I have no more to say. You can give
my ultimatum to your cousin."

"Very well, madame. After I have seen
Sam, I shall communicate the result to
Gonzales."




CHAPTER VII.

DR. LORD ASTOUNDED.


That the mystery connected with Mr.
Rogers’ death was not known by the son,
Nick was now convinced.

His visit to Worcester had been very
fruitful, however, and the great detective
returned to Boston armed with facts that
he knew would soon enable him to unravel
that mystery.

From Anita’s passionate exclamations
about himself, he learned that the Moreno
gang would endeavor to get him out of
the way, and he smiled grimly as he said
to himself:

"They have a big contract on their
hands."

A few minutes later he rang the bell at
Dr. Lord’s door and handed the domestic
one of his cards containing his real name
and profession.

When the doctor made his appearance
and saw Nick, he said:

"You have come early for your vial.
But I must ask you to wait some little
time, as a gentleman from New York has
just called."

"Nick Carter?" interjected Nick.

The doctor started.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

Nick arose from his seat, took another
card from his pocket, and, handing it to
his bewildered companion, said:

"I am Nick Carter."

"You!" exclaimed the doctor, who
dropped into an arm-chair and looked at
his visitor with astonishment. "Why,
Mr. Carter, you are just the man I wanted
to see. I was about to telegraph for you.
I am in serious trouble."

"I dare say it is about the Rogers murder
case," said Nick.

The doctor was again astounded.

When he recovered his equanimity, he
said:

"And the surgical instrument maker
scheme--what was the meaning of that,
Mr. Carter?"

"I cannot explain to you, sir, why I
adopt certain methods which I find necessary
to employ in the business of my profession.
It will, however, answer your
question sufficiently to inform you that
my adoption of the role of surgical instrument
maker was connected with this same
case concerning which you telegraphed
for me. And now, sir, will you be good
enough to state your business?"

"You seem to have divined it already."

"Then you do not require my services?"

"You have so surprised me, Mr. Carter,
that I scarcely know what to say."

Nick was watching him narrowly.

"Shall I tell you what you want me
for?" he asked.

"It would not surprise me one bit if you
could. But, Mr. Carter, let me ask you
one question: What do you know about
the woman Alvarez?"

"Everything."

"Everything?"

"Yes, doctor. And now will you tell me
what you know about her?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Perhaps I had better explain," said
the doctor. "On the morning after Mr.
Rogers’ death--some time after Dr. White
and I had made our examination of the
body, the woman Alvarez called. She insisted
that she was Sam Rogers’ wife."

"Yes, they were married," interrupted
Nick.

"Really?"

"Yes. But go on."

"She appeared to be terribly excited.
She said she had evidence that her father-in-law
did not die of heart disease. I assured
her that she was mistaken. Whereupon
she took from her pocket a little vial
similar to the one which I asked you to
allow me to examine yesterday."

Nick was all attention.

The fruit was ripening fast, and he
firmly believed that it would very soon be
ready to pluck.

"I analyzed the contents," continued
the doctor. "I discovered that it was indeed
a terrible poison."

"What did the woman say when she
showed you the vial?" asked Nick.

"She became very excited again, and
said:

"‘I found this in my father-in-law’s
room. You have poisoned him! I will
have you arrested!’

"I was fearful of scandal, for I am to be
married to Mr. Rogers’ daughter, so I
tried to calm her. I said I would do anything
to hush up the ridiculous suspicion."

"Ah!" sighed Nick, and the doctor
continued:

"When I said that she screamed:

"‘You are guilty, or you would not
make such a proposition. But I have here
the proofs of your villainous crime to get
hold of Miss Rogers’ money at once.’

"This annoyed me, and I requested her
to leave the house at once, which she did.
She returned again, however, that same
evening. The moment I saw her the idea
entered my mind that she came to blackmail
me, and I determined to humor her--to
find out, if possible, who she was.
She came fully prepared this time. She
said that a private examination had been
made by young Rogers and it was discovered
that his father had been poisoned.
There was an appearance of truth in this;
for, after her first visit, I wanted to make
a more critical examination of the body,
and Sam refused to allow it. You see,
Mr. Carter, I was in a very delicate position."

"I should say so!" said Nick.

"Therefore," added Dr. Lord, "I listened
to her without offering a word of
denial or assent. Her plans were very
cleverly laid, you see. She said that if I
would consent to sign a certain agreement,
she would bind herself not to disclose the
fact about the vial or any of the other
evidence, which she said she had in her
possession, that directly pointed to me as
Mr. Rogers’ murderer. I asked time to
consider, though I had not the slightest
intention of permitting her to blackmail
me. She consented, and gave me until
yesterday morning, when, she said, her
brother would call."

"And he did call?"

"Yes."

"I know it. I saw him."

Dr. Lord really felt uncomfortable. He
could not understand why or how Nick
knew so much about the affair, unless it
was that he was watching him. However,
he continued:

"He brought with him the copy of an
agreement. I told him that I could not
decide just then, but that, in any event, I
would not sign the agreement as it then
stood. I wanted to see just how far he
would go."

"Bravo!" interrupted Nick. "Did he
leave a copy of the document with you?"

"No. I was just starting for Mr. Rogers’
funeral, and he promised to come for my
answer at ten o’clock to-day."

"He won’t be here," said Nick. "But
I have heard enough, doctor. What do
you wish me to do?"

"I want to be protected from this gang
of blackmailers, but I do not want it made
public."

"If young Rogers knows of it, it will
be hard to hide the affair," said Nick.
"I shouldn’t be surprised if he did, if
that woman is his wife."

Dr. Lord looked the picture of misery.

He got up from his chair and walked
up and down the room two or three times.

He then stopped suddenly before Nick
Carter and cried:

"For God’s sake, do something--anything
to prevent this outrageous lie reaching
Miss Rogers’ ears! Let them take the
money. Yes, I will add to it; but spare
me my honor and my love."

He sat down, grief-stricken and miserable.

And then Nick went to him and extending
his hand, he said:

"Brace up, doctor. You have nothing
to fear, nor need you feel even worried."

The doctor took Nick’s hand in his and
expressed his warmest thanks.

He was pouring out his gratitude, when
Nick interrupted him by saying:

"Do you remember the terms of the
agreement they wished you to sign,
doctor?"

"Yes. It stipulated that upon condition
that the Alvarez woman or her brother
would not breathe a suspicion about the
finding of the hypodermic syringe point,
I was to pay to her the sum of fifty thousand
dollars on the morning of my marriage
with Miss Rogers. I need not tell
you that signing such a document would
incriminate me and give them a perpetual
handle for blackmail."

"You only know one-half of their
scheming, doctor. But they are clever.
They wished to make certain of at least
one person from whom they could levy
tax. However, the question of Mr. Rogers
death must be sifted to the end, and if
young Rogers is in any way implicated,
I may need your assistance."

"You shall have it if it is necessary.
But it strikes me, Mr. Carter, that the
first thing to be ascertained is, was Mr.
Rogers murdered?"




CHAPTER VIII.

A CRUEL POSITION.


"I shall settle that question," said
Nick. "It was I who found the point of
the hypodermic syringe imbedded in Mr.
Rogers’ wrist. It was undoubtedly broken
off to complete the blackmailing scheme
and attract suspicion to you. It was for
that same reason the broken syringe was
left here."

"That must be so," said the doctor,
"and if he was murdered, it must have
been by that woman."

"In my profession we do not jump at
conclusions so hastily," said Nick, evading
the doctor’s remark.

Dr. Lord laughed at this sally, and
Nick took up his hat as if about to leave.

"Before you go, Mr. Carter, can you tell
me what was the appearance of the wrist
in the locality where the syringe point
was imbedded?"

"Yes. I observed it very carefully.
Where the point lay, underneath the
skin, the color was normal--except that
one could detect the needle-like piece of
silver, upon very close observation. But
it was not that which first attracted my
attention."

"What was it?" asked the doctor, who
seemed to be intensely interested.

"It was the fact that, extending from
the point of the needle upward, for a
couple of inches, there was a marked
discoloration."

"Thank you. This may be important,
Mr. Carter. I shall consult with Dr. White
about it."

Nick then bade the doctor good-by and
turned his footsteps toward the Rogers
mansion.

He had not gone many yards when he
met his faithful assistant, Chick.

"Moreno is up at Rogers’ place," said
Chick, "and Ida is at the hotel."

"Well, what other news, Chick?"

"Miss Rogers loves the doctor."

"Good! Keep an eye on Rogers and
Moreno for a few minutes."

Nick immediately returned to Dr.
Lord’s house.

He hurriedly explained to the doctor
why he had come back, and, two minutes
later, a distinguished-looking Cuban left
the physician’s residence.

He walked leisurely in the direction of
the Rogers mansion.

Chick, who was accustomed to his
chief’s wonderful disguises, noticed him
approaching and came slowly toward
him.

"As soon as I have entered the house
I engage Jones, the butler, in conversation,"
said Nick, hurriedly.

He then entered the lawn of the Rogers
villa and approached the front door.

"Can I see Mr. Rogers?" he asked,
when Jones answered the bell.

"He is engaged just now, sir. But if
you will give me your card----”

"Oh, never mind," interrupted Nick.
"I shall wait for him."

The colored man showed him into the
reception-room.

At that moment the door bell rang
again.

It was Chick, and Nick Carter knew
well that his clever assistant would keep
Jones engaged until he again appeared.

Creeping noiselessly, he went along
the hallway until he arrived at the library
door.

Here he stopped and listened.

He heard the voices of two persons;
but could not catch their conversation.

The ornamentations on the key-hole, inside
as well as on the hall side, prevented
his hearing through that channel.

Looking upward, he noticed that the
old-fashioned transom could easily be
opened, and he was soon standing upon a
hall chair with a good view of the interior
of the room.

Sam Rogers was seated at a desk, and
Moreno standing beside him.

The latter was speaking in a commanding
manner; but his voice was so low
that Nick could not detect his words.

He now proceeded to open the transom
as cautiously and noiselessly as possible.

After a few moments he succeeded in
opening it a few inches, and he then
heard distinctly the conversation of Moreno
and Rogers.

"It is utterly useless to go any further,"
said Rogers. "I will not swear an information
against Dr. Lord."

"Was it Nick Carter advised you to
make this decision?"

"No, sir. Mr. Carter does not know
anything about this affair."

"Why did you engage him?"

"Anita told me to engage a detective."

"She told you to engage a private detective
in Boston, to whom you were to
point out the top of the hypodermic
syringe, and suggest to him that it might
belong to Dr. Lord. If you did that, Lord
would have been at once arrested on suspicion.
But you knew that Nick Carter
would never make the arrest until he had
fully and perfectly investigated the case,
and was absolutely certain of his man."

"I know that now. I did not know it
when I engaged him."

"If you engaged him with the intention
of directing his suspicion to Dr. Lord,
why do you now refuse to make an information
yourself?"

"Because I know Dr. Lord did not murder
my father."

"What would you do if Anita made
such a statement to the police?" said the
Cuban.

The young man started at this cold-blooded
suggestion.

He seemed to be in a perfect agony of
mental torture.

Suddenly he stood up, and, facing Moreno,
he said:

"If she dares to do such a thing, I
would expose the whole affair."

"Have a care, Mr. Rogers," said the
Cuban, fiercely. "Don’t go too far."

"I defy both you and her!" cried
Rogers, who was now very excited.

It evidently did not suit Moreno’s plans
to quarrel seriously with his companion.

He immediately changed his tactics and
said:

"If Anita gave you a release to-morrow,
how much would you pay for it?"

"To-morrow? Why, that’s impossible!
But, see here, Moreno. If Mr. Carter arrests
the doctor upon his own responsibility,
I shall not interfere. That is all I
can or will do in this direction. But I am
willing to guarantee Anita one hundred
thousand dollars, to be paid after my marriage
with Miss Bland, if she produces a
decree of divorce before it. It is utterly
useless to annoy me further."

"We will force you to do this!" hissed
Moreno.

"Do your very worst! I am so weary of
this disgraceful affair that I am perfectly
prepared for any event."

"Very well, Mr. Rogers," said the Cuban,
in a cold, cutting tone. "Anita will
to-morrow come to Boston and proclaim
herself your wife."

That shot told.

The young fellow threw himself into a
chair and gave way to torturing reflections.

His position was indeed cruel.

Moreno knew well the effect of his
blow, he looked at Rogers with a smile
of triumph, and then took up his hat and
pretended to prepare to leave the room.

He took a few steps toward the door,
when Rogers suddenly cried:

"Stop!"

"Well, sir?" said Moreno, smiling
grimly.

"Give me one week to consider."

"No, Mr. Rogers, not one day. You
wish to consult with Nick Carter. I must
have your answer now or you will never
marry Miss Bland. If you are so anxious
to avoid family scandal by saving your
sister’s intended husband, pay the money
right away. It will enable you to wed half
a million."

The young fellow struggled desperately
between his honor and his feelings.

"Supposing I do consent," he said, at
length. "You have agreed to produce a
divorce from Anita upon receipt of one
hundred thousand dollars. That will take
some time."

"She is prepared to release you legally
at once."

"At once?"

"Yes. If you consent to pay the money
to-morrow, I shall telegraph to her to
come here to arrange the affair. And now
I shall not waste another moment. Do
you consent? Or shall I allow her to come
here and proclaim herself your wife?"

"I consent," said Rogers, in a solemn
tone, as if he was passing his own death
sentence. "Leave me now, Moreno. I am
upset by this affair. I shall be ready to-morrow."

"Oh, no," said the Cuban, with a sardonic
grin. "I shall not leave you now
until our little business is transacted."

"Mr. Carter will be here shortly," said
Rogers, looking the Cuban full in the
face. "Perhaps you would not care to see
him?"

"Oh, it does not make any difference,
now that you have decided to settle up
without waiting for Dr. Lord’s arrest.
But I would advise you to dismiss Carter
at once."

"Very well. I shall be glad to have this
horrible affair ended. But----”

He mused for a moment, and then continued:

"Mr. Carter has already interested himself
in the case, and from what you tell
me of his character, I fear he may want to
probe it, with or without my consent."

"Ah!" said Moreno, "I did not think
of that. Yes. He must be silenced."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind, Mr. Rogers. We will attend
to that."

As he said this, the door suddenly
opened, and Nick Carter entered.

"You will attend to Nick Carter, will
you?" said he.

Quick as lightning, and before Moreno
could recover from his surprise, Nick
caught his wrists with a grasp of iron
and placed the handcuffs upon them.

"Now, Mr. Moreno," said he, "Nick
Carter will attend to you. Come along!"

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the Cuban.
"Where did you come from?"

"The moon, of course, but the place
you are going to will be much nearer at
hand."

Nick caught him by the arm and
marched him out of the room.

Handing him over to Chick who was
still conversing with the colored man,
Nick said:

"Take this fellow to police headquarters."

He then turned to young Rogers.

The young man was bewildered from
astonishment.

He was positively dazed to learn that
Nick knew about his arrangements with
Moreno.

He could not understand how it was
possible for him to have discovered it, and
he looked at him in silence in the same
manner as he would have looked at a
supernatural being.

Nick saw that the young fellow was
overwhelmed with surprise; but there
was no time to be lost.

"Mr. Rogers," said he, "I want your
presence at the Adams House at three
o’clock. It is a matter of the greatest importance
for you to be there. Don’t fail."

Surprises were pouring in so suddenly
upon the young man that he was too bewildered
to reply.

Nick took no notice of his amazement
or silence. He repeated:

"Don’t forget. Adams House, at three
o’clock."

He left Rogers seated in his library, still
wondering how the affair happened.

Nick now hastened to the nearest telegraph
office and sent the following dispatch:

"Mrs. Rogers, Bay State Hotel, Worcester:
Manuel has seen Sam’s cousin.
Settlement impossible unless with you, in
person. Come on by first train. Meet me
at Adams House. Ask for Rogers, room
75.

MORENO."

Five minutes later he was at Dr. Lord’s.

"Well, Mr. Carter," said the physician,
"what can I do for you this time?"

"I simply called to ask you to meet me
in room seventy-five at the Adams House
at three o’clock."

"I shall be there, Mr. Carter."

Nick did not delay one moment, but
hastened to his hotel.

Here he lay upon a lounge and gave
himself up to a moment of reflection.

"What a sell they will all get!" he
mused. "But it will be an agreeable one.
The poor doctor will be sold because his
misery will end almost before it had
begun.

"And young Rogers!

"Ah! He is a weak subject, and no
mistake.

"If he hadn’t deceived me about the
woman’s visits, I could have finished yesterday.

"However, he will feel sold when he
learns how I have found him out, although
he will, at the same time, be freed from
his Cuban wife.

"As for the three Cubans!

"Well, perhaps the greatest surprise of
all will be for them!"




CHAPTER IX.

LAST LINK IN THE CHAIN.


At two o’clock precisely a lady knocked
at the door of room 75, Adams House.

It was Anita Alvarez.

Nick Carter, alias Mr. Rogers, admitted
her.

"How do you do, madame?" said
Nick.

"Very well, thank you, Mr. Rogers. I
expected to find my brother, and--and a
friend here."

"They will be here presently."

"My brother tells me that Sam will not
accept the terms of the agreement."

"He will be here himself at three
o’clock, madame. We shall then arrange
everything connected with this matter."

"But cannot you tell me in the meantime
what it is he particularly objects to?"

"I cannot see what good it would do.
It will be much better to discuss the entire
affair with him personally. But won’t
you remove your heavy cloak and make
yourself comfortable while you are waiting?
By the way, wouldn’t you like a cup
of coffee after your journey?"

"Yes, Mr. Rogers, thank you. If you
would not mind, I should like a cup of
black coffee and brandy."

Nick touched a bell.

It was answered by Chick, to whom
Nick passed a note, saying, as he did so:

"Will you please bring some coffee and
brandy at once?"

"Yes, sir."

The note contained the following message:

"Have Moreno and Gonzales here at
3:30. Admit Rogers first. Keep prisoners
in your room until we need them."

Chick’s room was number 73, and had
a door leading into Nick’s.

When the door closed, Nick took from
his pocket the hat pin which he found in
Mr. Rogers’ room, and placed it on a
chair close to his visitor.

"Does that pin belong to you, madame?"
asked he.

She looked at it; then put her hand up
to her hat to satisfy herself that the one
there was not missing.

"Why, yes!" she cried. "I have missed
that pin for some days. I wonder where it
came from, or how it could have got
here."

"It was found upon the bed with Mr.
Rogers’ dead body."

She trembled and became pale and confused.

But recovering herself, she asked:

"Where did you say it was found?"

"Where you dropped it, madame."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you not remember the morning
after Mr. Rogers’ death?"

"Yes."

"When you went to see the body with
your husband?"

"No, sir. You are mistaken----”

"What?" said Nick. "Why, you told
me that----”

"Oh, yes! I forgot."

The unfortunate woman was so bewildered
that, in her confusion, she really
believed she had told him.

"By the way, I hope you have the release
for Sam ready," said Nick.

"Yes," said the woman, who was now
feeling particularly uncomfortable.

But just then the waiter arrived with
the coffee and brandy, and the diversion
relieved her.

She little guessed how badly she needed
a stimulant just then.

Nick looked at his watch.

It wanted but a few minutes of three
o’clock.

"When did you see your husband last?"
he asked, suddenly.

"Last night--eh, I mean--eh, not since
his father’s death."

"There is one thing that Sam has concealed
from me," said Nick.

"What is that?"

"Was his father really murdered by Dr.
Lord? Or was it by somebody else?"

"You know well," said Anita, regaining
her self-confidence, "that no other
person could have done it."

"Then you believe," said Nick,
adroitly, "that that syringe was charged
with poison solely for the purpose of
murdering Mr. Rogers."

"I know it."

The moment she uttered these words
she recognized her mistake, and would
have given worlds not to have spoken
them.

But, although Nick had now secured
the last link of his chain of evidence, he
gave no outward sign that he attached
any importance to it.

He was about to continue when someone knocked at the door.

"Come in!" said Nick.

Sam Rogers entered.

"Anita!" he cried, in amazement.

"At your service, sir!" coldly rejoined
the lady.

"Be seated, Mr. Rogers," said Nick.

Anita looked at Nick nervously.

"That man would not call him Mr.
Rogers, if he was his cousin!" was the
thought that flashed through her mind.

Rogers was clearly as much mystified as
was Anita.

But his perplexity was not mixed with
fear.

She was trembling with fear of an unknown
something which her imagination
was unable to define.

She looked at Nick with an expression
that mingled indignation and appeal.

Her suspense was really becoming unbearable,
and Nick saw it.

"Better cut this act short," he muttered.

Turning to Rogers, he said:

"Mr. Rogers, that woman is not your
wife."

"Liar!" thundered Anita.

"Keep your temper, madame," said
Nick. "Your real husband will shortly
be here. As Mrs. Moreno, you cannot be
Mrs. Rogers."

"My God!" she cried. "How did you
learn this? Who are you?"

Not heeding her question, Nick continued:

"I have learned much more, madame,
that you will be even less pleased to listen
to."

"Is this true?" asked Rogers, in a whirl
of delighted amazement.

"Yes, Mr. Rogers. You may set your
mind at rest on that point."

Just then the door opened, and Chick
announced:

"Dr. Lord!"

The woman trembled from head to feet
when she saw the doctor.

Rogers also felt very uncomfortable.

"Have the others arrived?" asked
Nick.

"Yes, sir. They are in the next room."

"Is Waldo with them?"

"Yes, sir, and another man."

"Send them in guarded."

The door between Nick’s room and his
assistant’s was immediately opened, and
Moreno and Gonzales were marched in,
handcuffed to the two detectives.

"Nick Carter!" cried both prisoners,
simultaneously.

"Yes, gentlemen," said Nick. "I shall
now explain why I have invited you all
to be present at this meeting."

No one uttered a word.

Everybody was too much astonished.

But they were even more astounded
when Nick said:

"Everybody in this room knows, in
part, a good deal of what I know concerning
Mr. Rogers’ death, and the criminal
events surrounding it; but not one of
you can even guess all that I do know.

"In the first place, Mr. Rogers was not
murdered.

"Three people in this room knew, from
the very beginning, that he was not murdered.

"These are Anita Moreno, Manuel Alvarez
and the conspirator in chief, Moreno
himself."

Had a thunderbolt fallen in the room it
could not have caused more consternation
and amazement.

Nick then continued, in the same cool
manner:

"There was an intention to murder him,
however; but luckily nature stepped in
and claimed Mr. Rogers before this crime
could be committed.

"This intended murder was planned by
Moreno and was to have been executed by
the woman, his wife, who is guilty of
bigamy for entering into a marriage ceremony
with Mr. Rogers.

"The plan was to incriminate Dr. Lord,
and thus create a lever for blackmail.

"When Anita Moreno went to Mr.
Rogers’ home--to murder him--and found
that he had died the night before of heart
disease, she nevertheless inserted the
needle of this hypodermic syringe in his
wrist and injected some of Mr. Moreno’s
famous poison into it."

Here he held aloft the syringe.

"She then broke off the point in the
wound, hoping that the doctors would
find it and naturally suspect the family
physician of having used the dreadful
poison it contained.

"But she was ignorant of the fact that
after death hypodermic injections will not
be distributed through the system, as the
blood has ceased to circulate.

"For this reason I noticed that the wrist
was discolored by the poison, and that
fact has guided me throughout.

"She then visited Dr. Lord and left the
broken syringe upon his bureau.

"There is no necessity to recite the
clever scheme of blackmail which was to
have been put into execution.

"Every one in this room knows the
particulars.

"But every one here does not know, nor
does the lady herself, that the vial of
poison from which the syringe was
charged was dropped by her at the Providence
depot and picked up by me.

"And lastly, only the three prisoners
know that Alvarez attempted to murder
your humble servant at midnight on Mr.
Rogers’ lawn.

"And now what should we do with
these criminals?

"Dr. Lord, you have the best right to
dictate.

"What is your sentence?"

"Spare them," generously cried the
doctor.

"Just what I expected you to say," said
Nick.

"Yes, we will set them at liberty.

"But upon one condition.

"They must return to Cuba; for if
within three days any one of them is
found in the United States, every one of
the crimes of which I hold the proofs
against them will be charged to the law’s
limit."

When the three culprits took their departure,
Nick Carter’s face became once
more severe, and, turning to Sam Rogers,
he said:

"You should not have lied to me!"

That was all; and the great detective
then escaped from the outpouring of gratitude
of the two men, whose happy future
he had insured.


THE END.

The next number will contain "Nick
Carter under the Knife; or, The Little
Giant Among the Body-Snatchers."




NICK CARTER WEEKLY.

_THE BEST LIBRARY OF DETECTIVE STORIES._

LATEST ISSUES:

198--Nick Carter Under the Knife; or, The Little Giant Among the
Body-Snatchers.

197--The Little Glass Vial; or, A Beautiful Blackmailer Brought to Bay.

196--A Man of Wood; or, Who Killed Dr. Startle?

195--Nick Carter’s Grateful Client; or, Saving the Honor of the Old
Man’s Boy.

194--Nick Carter on the Bowery; or, A Crippled Cracksman’s Detection.

193--Nick Carter on the Inside; or, No Chance for the Coroner.

192--Nick Carter in Frisco; or, Instructed by a Newspaper Personal.

191--Wanted for Embezzlement; or, What Became of the Treasurer.

190--Nick Carter’s Slippery Quarry; or, The Case Against ’Frisco Jim.

189--Nick Carter’s Proofs; or, Bad News for the Guilty.

188--Nick Carter at the Races; or, Two Kinds of Lead Pipe Cinch.

187--The Best Detective in the Country; or, A Prompt Reply to a
Telegram.

186--Nick Carter Rescues a Daughter; or, The Junior Partner’s Strange
Behavior.

185--Nick Carter Saves a Reputation; or, A Button Worth a Fortune.

184--Shielding a Murderer; or, Nick Carter’s Dealings with an Avenger.

183--Saved from the Penitentiary; or, Three Cheers for Nick Carter.

182--The Blood-Stained Check; or, Nick Carter in the Dissecting-Room.

181--In the Clutch of the Law; or, Nick Carter’s Chain of Evidence.

180--The Government Custom’s Swindle; or, Nick Carter’s Work for the U.
S. Treasury.

179--Nick Carter’s Beautiful Decoy; or, The Diamond Duke of Chicago.

178--Nick Carter Arrests a Client; or, The Body Found in the Flat.

177--Nick Carter’s Dumb Assistant; or, The Man with a Dead Brain.

176--Nick Carter Behind the Counter; or, A Peck of Pawn Tickets.

175--Nick Carter’s Pointer; or, A Hungry Dog’s Dinner.

174--By Whose Hand; or, Nick Carter Advertises for a Cab-Driver.

173--Caught in Six Hours; or, Trouble in Room No. 46.

172--Burglar Joe; or, Nick Carter’s Leap in the Dark.

171--Nick Carter’s Little Shadow; or, The Man with the Yellow Dog.

170--Caught by Electricity; or, Nick Carter Bags an Old Offender.

169--Unmasked by Nick Carter; or, An Attempt at Blackmail.

168--Nick Carter’s Second Sight; or, A Dumfounded Prisoner.

167--Nick Carter Makes a Loan That Brings Him Big Returns.

166--Nick Carter Prevents a Disturbance, and Loses a Disguise.

165--Nick Carter in a Hole; or, A Plan to Catch Him That Didn’t Work.

164--Nick Carter Off the Track, but Has Another String to His Bow.

163--Nick Carter Jumps a Train, and Takes Big Chances.

162--Nick Carter Saves a Life, and Earns a Woman’s Gratitude.

161--Nick Carter Corners a Bank President; or, A Balance That Was
Crooked.

160--Nick Carter’s Steamer Trunk; or, A Crime in Mid-Ocean.

159--Nick Carter’s New Uniform; or, A Bribe That Was Expected.

158--Nick Carter and the Sawdust Man; or, An Investment That Caused
Trouble.

157--Nick Carter as an Expert; or, A Battery That Was Tampered With.

156--Nick Carter’s Silent Search; or, A Drive at a Fake Detective.

155--Nick Carter’s Curious Client; or, A Criminal with More Gall than
Sense.

154--Nick Carter Settles a Conspiracy; or, A Telegram That Wasn’t
Signed.

153--Nick Carter’s Midnight Caller; or, A Case Concluded Before
Daylight.

152--Nick Carter’s Fake Murder Case; or, The Plan to Wipe Out the
Agency.


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every book will be a prize winner. It will contain no story that the
boys have not approved as a "standard." They have bought them by the
thousands at $1.00 and upwards, and now they can get them for =TEN
CENTS A COPY=.

63--In the Sunk Lands      Walter F. Burns
62--How He Won      Brooks McCormick
61--The Erie Train Boy      Horatio Alger, Jr.
60--The Mountain Cave      George H. Coomer
59--The Rajah’s Fortress      William Murray Graydon
58--Gilbert, the Trapper      Capt. C. B. Ashley
57--The Gold of Flat Top Mountain      Frank H. Converse
56--Nature’s Young Noblemen      Brooks McCormick
55--A Voyage to the Gold Coast      Frank H. Converse
54--Joe Nichols; or, Difficulties Overcome      Alfred Oldfellow
53--The adventures of a New York Telegraph Boy      Arthur Lee Putnam
52--From Farm Boy to Senator      Horatio Alger, Jr.
51--Tom Tracy      Arthur Lee Putnam
50--Dean Dunham      Horatio Alger, Jr.
49--The Mystery of a Diamond      Frank H. Converse
48--Luke Bennett’s Hide-Out      Capt. C. B. Ashley, U. S. Scout
47--Eric Dane      Matthew White, Jr.
46--Poor and Proud      Oliver Optic
45--Jack Wheeler: A Western Story      Captain David Southwick
44--The Golden Magnet      George Manville Fenn
43--In Southern Seas      Frank H. Converse
42--The Young Acrobat      Horatio Alger, Jr.
41--Check 2134      Edward S. Ellis
40--Canoe and Campfire      St. George Rathborne
39--With Boer and Britisher in the Transvaal      William Murray Graydon
38--Gay Dashleigh’s Academy Days      Arthur Sewall
37--Commodore Junk      George Manville Fenn
36--In Barracks and Wigwam      William Murray Graydon
35--In the Reign of Terror      G. A. Henty
34--The Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green      Cuthbert Bede, B. A.
33--Jud and Joe, Printers and Publishers      Gilbert Patten
32--The Curse of Carnes’ Hold      G. A. Henty
31--The Cruise of the Snow Bird      Gordon Stables
30--Peter Simple      Captain Marryat
29--True to the Old Flag      G. A. Henty
28--The Boy Boomers      Gilbert Patten
27--Centre-Board Jim      Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry
26--The Cryptogram      William Murray Graydon
25--Through the Fray      G. A. Henty
24--The Boy from the West      Gilbert Patten
23--The Dragon and the Raven      G. A. Henty
22--From Lake to Wilderness      William Murray Graydon
21--Won at West Point      Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry
20--Wheeling for Fortune      James Otis
19--Jack Archer      G. A. Henty
18--The Silver Ship      Leon Lewis
17--Ensign Merrill      Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry
16--The White King of Africa      William Murray Graydon
15--Midshipman Merrill      Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry
14--The Young Colonists: A Story of Life and War in Africa      G. A. Henty
13--Up the Ladder      Lieut. Murray
12--Don Kirk’s Mine      Gilbert Patten
11--From Tent to White House (Boyhood and Life of President McKinley)      Edward S. Ellis
10--Don Kirk, the Boy Cattle King      Gilbert Patten
9--Try Again      Oliver Optic
8--Kit Carey’s Protege      Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry
7--Chased Through Norway      James Otis
6--Captain Carey of the Gallant Seventh      Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry
5--Now or Never      Oliver Optic
4--Lieutenant Carey’s Luck      Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry
3--All Aboard      Oliver Optic
2--Cadet Kit Carey      Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry
1--The Boat Club      Oliver Optic


                    OTHERS EQUALLY GOOD TO FOLLOW.

Order them at once. If you cannot get them send to us. Remember these
are 12mo books, printed from new plates, with elegant covers, and are
the "_real thing_" and only TEN CENTS A COPY.


[Illustration]


Homeliness--not positive ugliness--but
mere plainness, often passes for
beauty when crowned with a halo of
beautiful hair.

In scores of cases the secret of beauty
is Ayer’s Hair Vigor.

J. C. AYER COMPANY,
Practical Chemists,      Lowell, Mass.

Ayer’s Sarsaparilla
Ayer’s Pills
Ayer’s Ague Cure
Ayer’s Hair Vigor
Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral
Ayer’s Comatone

If your druggist cannot supply you, send us $1.00, and we will express a bottle
to you, all charges prepaid. Be sure and give us your nearest express office.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69735 ***