CHAPTER II.

A NOVEL TIMEKEEPER.

It was about four o’clock in the morning when Nick and the New York chief of police sat down together in the latter’s house to discuss the events of the night. What had happened in the meantime the reader will hear in Nick’s own words.
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He had rapidly described the events with which the reader is familiar and had come to the scene in the hall.

“I went directly to No. 349,” Nick proceeded, “and there I found evidence which convinced me that Helstone’s gang had made the house its headquarters.

“I got no information from the people in the house. They only knew that a ‘club’ of some kind had hired one of the upper apartments.

“Of course it was empty. The gang had taken the alarm. But I saw the work of Helstone’s carpenter.

“You remember that when the central office men arrived just too late at Helstone’s place on East Tenth Street, they found the rooms full of concealed panels and secret cupboards—the cleverest things of the kind that had ever been seen in New York.

“Well, there was the same work over here, but the rooms were entirely deserted. The gang had got away. The last man hadn’t been gone an hour.”

“Can that be proved?”

“I could swear to it,” said Nick, smiling. “There is running water in one of the rooms. Under the faucet was a pewter drinking cup.

“The faucet leaked. The cup was very nearly full.

“The dropping water filled this little bottle in one minute and ten seconds. The bottle holds the hundredth part of a pint. The cup holds half a pint. Therefore, the leaking water would fill it in fifty-eight seconds. So somebody set that cup under the faucet less than an hour before I arrived.
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”

“Upon my word, Nick,” said the chief, “you can make a clock out of anything.”

“Dropping water is a first-rate timepiece,” Nick replied. “That’s why I had this bottle made.”

“Except the joiner work, was there anything in the rooms to show that Helstone had occupied them?”

“No, but it’s pretty well known in the district now. That’s the peculiar thing about Helstone. He always knows just when to flit.

“Before he goes, nobody knows anything about him. Ten minutes later, everybody knows.”

“But nobody has ever seen Helstone himself.”

“No; the inspector has got descriptions of some of his men, but there is no description of Helstone. He’s really only a rumor, a mysterious influence guiding the movements of those ruffians.”

“Well,” said the chief, after a pause, “what did you do next?”

“I went to the hospital.”

“Is the woman dead?”

“She lies unconscious, but will probably recover. Her clothing bears no marks by which she can be identified. She may prove to be a mystery.”

“How was she dressed?”

“A rather ordinary gray dress, with a simple hat to match. Her underclothing was unusually fine.”

“In the nature of a disguise,” said the superintendent. “A rich woman who wished to seem poor.”

“Perhaps; but here’s the great point which makes the
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case extraordinary and seems to connect the woman with Helstone.

“In a pocket of her dress were five loose diamonds. Four of them were ordinary stones worth about four hundred dollars apiece.

“The fifth was a splendid gem of the first water. It is worth over five thousand dollars.”

“Looks as if she was a member of the gang, and was trying to get away with some of the plunder.”

“It certainly has that appearance.”

“What did you do with the jewels?” asked the chief, after a pause.

“I sent them to headquarters, and furnished a description of them to the papers. Probably the last editions of some of them will have the description.”

The chief nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “we want the stones identified as soon as possible.”

“And also the woman,” Nick added.

“What is her description?”

“Age thirty, medium height, weighs about one hundred and thirty pounds, hazel eyes, very abundant hair, of a peculiar bronze hue; regular features, and, in general, unusual personal beauty. There are no distinguishing marks.”

“Looks like a refined woman?”

“Decidedly.”

“Where is the wound?”

“In the back. The dagger did not touch the heart,
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but it grazed the spine, and there are signs that paralysis will follow, ending, of course, in death.”

“You’ve decided to take charge of the case, Nick?”

“I have.”

“Good. You have informed Inspector McLaughlin?”

“Certainly.”

“There’s nothing that I can do.”

“I think not, thank you.”

“Then I’ll get back to bed. Good luck to you, Nick. Helstone is game worthy of your skill, but you’ll bag him.”

At nine o’clock on that morning Nick was in Inspector McLaughlin’s office.

He held in his hand the five diamonds which had been taken from the wounded woman’s pocket.

“These four stones,” said the inspector, “will be hard to identify. The big one should find its rightful owner easily.”

He had no sooner spoken the words than Nathan Lusker was announced. He came to see whether the diamonds were a part of his stolen stock.

Lusker failed to identify them. His description did not fit the large jewel at all. This stone was cut in a peculiar manner, so that its owner should be able to describe it in a way to settle all doubt.

When Lusker had departed, an East Side jeweler called. He had no better fortune. The stones were evidently not his.

Then a card was brought in by an officer.
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“Morton H. Parks,” the inspector read. “He’s not a jeweler. Bring him in.”

Mr. Parks entered immediately. He was a fine-looking man of middle age, with the face of a scholar.

He wore neither beard nor mustache.

“I called to examine some jewels,” he said. “They were, I understand, found last night in the possession of an unfortunate woman—a thief—who was stabbed by some of her accomplices.”

“Well, as to that I wouldn’t speak positively,” said the inspector, “but we have five diamonds here, and I don’t doubt that they were stolen.”

“I have reason to think,” replied Mr. Parks, “that the larger of them was stolen from my residence.”

He proceeded at once to describe the stone, and he had not spoken a dozen words before the inspector was convinced that the owner of the diamonds had appeared.

One of the smaller stones he also described very closely, and he expressed the opinion that all of them were his.

“They were stolen on the night of August 3d,” said he. “A burglar took the entire contents of my wife’s jewel casket.”

“What else did he take?” asked Nick.

Mr. Parks seemed to be much embarrassed.

“Nothing else,” he replied, at last, “except some money which was in my pocketbook.”

“What was your total loss?”

“In excess of thirty thousand dollars.”

“Why did you not report your loss to the police?
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”

The visitor tried to speak, but his voice stuck in his throat. He seemed to be suffering great mental distress.

“Was it because you suspected some member of your family?”

Mr. Parks bowed his head in assent. Then, with an effort, he recovered his self-command.

“I am ashamed to confess,” he said, “that I did at first suspect my nephew, who lived with us. It is dreadful to think of it, but circumstances pointed to him. I am rejoiced to find that I was wholly wrong, and that the robbery was done by an organized gang of burglars.”

“Your identification of the large diamond,” said the inspector, “satisfies me that you are the owner. Yet, on account of its value in money, and its value to us as a clew, I wish to be doubly certain. Is there any way you can strengthen the identification?”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Parks, “my wife knows the stones as well as I. You see, the large diamond was the pendant of a necklace. The smaller ones, I believe, were in rings belonging to her, though, of course, I cannot be sure now that the settings have been removed.”

“Is Mrs. Parks at home?”

“No; she is in Stamford, Connecticut. She went there yesterday morning upon a visit. I have telegraphed her to return.”

“Have you received any answer?” asked Nick.

“I did not expect any. She would certainly come.”

At this moment there was a knock at the door.

A telegram was brought in. It was addressed to Mr. Parks, and had reached his house after he left.
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The butler, knowing where he had gone, had sent it after him.

He tore it open.

“From Stamford,” he said, and then his face grew white.

“Merciful Heaven!” he cried. “Gentlemen, my wife has not been to Stamford.”

“Have you her picture?” asked Nick.

For answer Parks drew out his watch and opened the back of the case with a trembling hand. He then held the picture it contained before Nick’s eyes.

“Mr. Parks,” said Nick, “tell me the truth. Was it your nephew whom you suspected of that robbery or——”

“My wife? Yes; may Heaven pity and forgive her! It was my wife.”

“Will you go to her?”

“Can it be true?”

“She lies in Bellevue Hospital, at the point of death.”