Chick, in the r?le of a street laborer, had accompanied Nick Carter to the house on L Street. From a monster elm he had seen Mrs. Mannion emerge from the back door of Craven's house with a small bundle under her arm, which, he rightly judged, contained eatables. Looking neither to right nor left, she hurried to the first corner, turned south, and almost flew along the sidewalk. Chick followed, using all the precautions of an expert shadower. Going through lanes and private grounds, she at last reached the river shore. Chick, by a detour and making lightning time, arrived at a point near the water several hundred yards in advance of his beautiful quarry. Looking up-and down-stream without showing himself to the woman, he saw that there was but one boat between her and the first bridge, and that was not far beyond the point where he stood, and within a short distance of the river approaches to the navy-yard.
Intuitively Chick knew that Mannion's wife was looking for a boat, and this one he had no sooner discovered than he made a run for it, using the bushes along the shore as a screen for his body.
Reaching it, he saw it was a punt, and that it was half-filled with water. With an old tin can found on[170] the shore he was busily engaged in bailing out the punt, when Mrs. Mannion, flushed and anxious-eyed, came up to him. Chick did not turn his head at her approach, though out of the corner of his eye he saw her coming.
She stopped and spoke.
"Is this your punt?"
"Sure, miss," was the response, in a rough voice, but with a kindly intonation.
"I wish to get across the river. I live beyond the point, and some one has stolen my own boat. Can I engage you to paddle me over? I will pay you half a dollar."
"That's like finding money, miss," said Chick, looking into her face with a broad smile. "But, as I need some coin of the realm, I'll close with your offer, and thank you kindly for making it. Get right in, and away we'll go."
Nick's assistant was no novice at boat-work. He was as much at home on the water as on land. Swiftly and dexterously he paddled across the Potomac's east branch, landing, as directed by his fair employer, a quarter of a mile below the point in the direction of uniontown.
On the way Chick asked a question:
"What kind of a boat is the stolen one?"
"Something odd for these parts. It's a batteau which my father brought from Vermont."
"Isn't that it over there?" pointing to a flat, sharp[171]nosed, square-sterned boat on the shore toward which they were proceeding.
She looked, and, without showing any surprise, said: "Yes, that is the one."
And now Chick was convinced that Mannion had used the batteau, and that his wife was on the way to find him.
When she found herself on the other side Nellie Mannion paid the counterfeit boatman, and then turned and went rapidly up the bank. Chick saw her disappear among the trees, and cautiously followed her. For half an hour he was able to keep her in sight. Then, all at once, she disappeared in the thickly wooded grounds of an old residence long deserted. The gate was gone, the fence was broken in many places, the grass grew thick in the walks, and there was neglect everywhere.
Chick was hurrying through the wild tangle of weeds and bushes in the garden near the house, when a scream, fraught with direst agony, reached his ears. It came from a spot near at hand, not many yards away, and in a moment he stood by the mouth of an old well and by the side of Nellie Mannion, who, on her knees and sobbing as if her heart would break, was gazing down into the black depths of the hole.
"What is it?" Chick asked, in real concern.
Mrs. Mannion looked up, partially checked her sobbing, and said, in a despairing voice:
"He's down there."
"Who is he, and how did he get there?"
[172]
Chick had not explained his presence in the grounds, nor had the woman expressed any surprise at his coming. It now occurred to the young detective, while Mrs. Mannion hesitated in her answer, that he might as well try to square himself.
"I live near here," he said unblushingly, "and I was going past the place when I heard your scream."
She seemed to pay no attention to this explanation, but said, with a renewal of her agitation: "He's down there, and he may be dead. Can you not get him out?"
"How do you know any one is down in the well?" the detective asked, as a dim suspicion crossed his mind.
"I heard his groans as I came toward the well," she replied, with every appearance of earnestness and sincerity; "and the groans stopped just before you came up."
Chick was but half-satisfied with this statement. Kneeling down, he looked and listened intently. There was not a sound from below. He struck a match and was in the act of using the light thus afforded to ascertain what, if anything, the well contained, when a shove given with all the force Nellie Mannion was capable of exerting—and she was anything but a weak woman—tumbled the brave detective into the well. There was a heavy thud, one groan, and then silence.
On her feet, her heart beating like a trip-hammer and her face, lighted up but a moment before with murderous fire, now pale with the first touches of remorse, Nellie Mannion listened for a few moments; then,[173] taking up her bundle from the ground, hastened, with shaking limbs, from the scene of her crime.
Nick Carter waited until midnight for the return of his assistant. Then, in no equable frame of mind, he sought his couch.
The morning came, and no Chick. Noon arrived, and still Chick had not made his appearance. During the forenoon Patsy had been on a hunt for the missing detective, and Nick had made a search on his own account, beginning with Craven's house. There he learned, somewhat to his alarm, that Mrs. Mannion had been away since the preceding afternoon. Her father showed anxiety, though it was his opinion that his daughter had gone to join her hu............