One of the little physician’s hands shot out and caught at the ink bottle which the detective was about to pocket, and as they reeled across the room together, the rascal lowered his head unexpectedly and set his sharp teeth into Nick Carter’s hand.
It was the trick of an animal rather than of a human being, and it took the detective completely by surprise.
Involuntarily Nick released his hold on the bottle, and it fell to the floor. The fall did not break it, however, and Follansbee was obliged to kick it into the fireplace, where it struck against one of the massive andirons and was shattered, its contents mixing with the ashes.
With a swift movement Nick released himself from his clinging antagonist, and sent him spinning after the broken bottle. The doctor recovered his balance, gasping for breath, and the two faced each other silently for a few moments.
“Well,” Follansbee said presently, panting, “you didn’t connect with that bit of evidence after all, did you?”
The detective shrugged his shoulders.
“True,” he admitted. “I knew I was dealing with a cur, but I forgot that you weren’t muzzled. You needn’t pride yourself on your victory, however; the ink would have been a little further evidence against you, but I can very easily get along without it. But I didn’t come here to bandy words with you, or to fight with mad dogs. I came to find out where your latest victim is—Stone, I mean; and I’d advise you not to put any more obstacles in my way.”
“What do I know about Stone?”
“That’s what I want you to tell me. I heard you arrange to wait for him outside the bank, and I saw you leave the hotel for that performance. He hasn’t been back since, and the hotel people are beginning to worry about it. It is up to you to do a little explaining, if you don’t want to be accused of another crime.”
“I know nothing about it,” the rascal insisted. “Stone came back here, it’s true. I brought him in my car, and he was here for some little time. It must have been something after three o’clock when he left, intending to walk back to the hotel. That’s the last I saw of him.”
He spoke with the utmost assurance, and unfortunately Nick was not able to contradict him. The detective realized with a sinking of the heart that, in spite of Follansbee’s telltale flareups and partial or implied confessions, the man intended to fight doggedly every step of the way.
For a moment he was at a loss to know how to proceed, and the Buzzard, seeing his hesitation, took advantage of that fact.
“That’s all I have to tell you,” Follansbee went on triumphantly. “Make as much—or as little—of it as you can. Let me remind you of something else, too. Any charge you may try to bring against me will involve Stone and give a lot of undesirable publicity to his mental condition. It will involve you, too, for if he’s as dangerous as you claim he is, the newspapers and the public will ask why you allowed him to go about of his own free will, to live unmolested at a hotel, and all the rest of it. More than that, the revelations that will inevitably follow will make your friend Crawford very sore. He has stuck to Stone, I understand, through thick and thin. I don’t pretend to say what his motives have been, but I know enough to be sure that he won’t welcome the limelight when it’s thrown upon them.”
Nick was amazed at the man’s cleverness in making use of such an argument. He had felt himself hampered at every turn by the peculiar circumstances which surrounded the case, and especially by Crawford’s insistance that no punishment be visited upon his old partner. It had seemed to the detective, however, when he discovered the way in which Follansbee had juggled with the check, that he had the scoundrel where he wanted him, but now he was beginning to doubt even that. At any rate, he did not feel justified in having Follansbee arrested at once. He needed to know what had become of Stone before doing that, and it was desirable to have another conference with Crawford in order to see how far the latter was willing for him to go.
All of which meant tha............