Library 
THE MYSTERIOUS BANDAGE.
The first thing to catch Nick Carter’s eye after stepping out on the veranda was a strip of white cotton cloth, also a piece of common white string, both lying on the veranda floor near the willow chair mentioned.
The strip of cloth was somewhat soiled and wrinkled, also creased and curled in a way, and Nick picked it up and examined it.
He found that it was about two feet in length and five
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inches wide, also that it had been carefully folded lengthwise. On one soiled end of it were stains of blood.
“By Jove, here’s another bit of curious evidence,” said he, after a careful examination.
“It looks like a bandage,” said Fallon.
“That’s just what it is.”
“But why curious?”
“Note the wrinkles and creases and the way it curls,” said Nick. “Plainly enough, Fallon, it has been bound around a man’s hand, or it would not have retained these several turns and creases.”
“I see.”
“Hold out your hands, both of them. We can find out by readjusting these quirks and turns on which hand it was worn.”
“Certainly. That’s a simple problem.”
Nick proceeded to fit the bandage, so to speak, to Fallon’s hands. It would not fit the right hand, though turned in either direction, without altering the original turns and wrinkles. It could be perfectly bound around the left hand, however, and the result of Nick’s experiment was convincing.
“This is as plain as twice two,” said he. “It was worn by some man on his left hand.”
“Surely,” Fallon agreed. “He probably had a sore hand, or a cut.”
“You are wrong,” said Nick. “That’s the curious part of it.”
“Wrong?” questioned Fallon, puzzled. “Why so?”
Nick still had the bandage twined around his companion’s left hand.
“Notice these bloodstains,” he replied. “They are not on the inside of the bandage, which would come next to a cut, or sore. They are on the outside of it.”
“By Jove, that is a bit strange,” Fallon now declared.
“The blood did not soak from a wound, moreover, for the layer of cloth beneath this outside one is perfectly clean, as you see.”
“True.”
“So, as you now can see, is the inside of the bandage, which came next to the hand,” Nick continued, removing it and displaying the inner side. “There is not a sign of blood, pus, salve, or liniment, as if it had been bound around a wounded hand. It is perfectly clean, in fact.”
“Humph!” Fallon ejaculated, gazing at it with increasing perplexity. “There is no question as to your being right. It speaks for itself. But what in thunder do you make of it?”
“The hand was not injured,” said Nick.
“It may have been lame, or sprained.”
“The bandage would not have been removed in that case, Fallon,” Nick replied. “If sufficiently lame to require a bandage, it would not have been removed when the man arrived here. No man about to attempt a desperate job with a lame hand would first weaken the hand by removing a bandage with which it had been protected, or strengthened.”
“That’s true, also,” Fallon nodded. “You think it was worn by the assassin?”
“I do.”
“When he entered?”
“No. Before he entered,” said Nick. “In order to have free use of his hand, he evidently tore off the bandage and string and threw them aside before he entered. Here are stains of blood on the string, also, proving that those
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on the bandage were on the outside of it, as I have already demonstrated.”
“You’re right, Nick,” agreed Fallon. “There is no denying it.”
“Take it from me, too, the man’s hand was not injured.”
“But why that bandage, then?”
“For some other reason,” Nick said dryly. “What that reason was, Fallon, remains to be learned. It would be a waste of time for us to try to guess it.”
“I agree with you.”
“The blood on the outside of the bandage evidently came from the man’s right hand, moreover, which I already have pointed out was stained, not after, but before he entered this door. This mysterious bandage confirms my previous deductions.”
“By Jove, it’s a perplexing mess,” said Fallon, brows knitted. “I cannot fathom why the scoundrel’s right hand was soiled with blood before he entered this house. Why it afterward may have been is simple enough.”
“Let’s go a step farther,” said Nick, thrusting the string and bandage into his pocket.
He then began a careful examination of the veranda floor, but he could find no tracks, nor evidence of any description.
Leaving the veranda, Nick then inspected the walk leading out to the street, also the neatly trimmed lawn adjoining it. The gravel walk retained no footprints, but Nick had taken only a few steps when, abruptly halting, he pointed to the greensward.
The grass was slightly bent and bruised. Faint though it was, the track of a small shoe was discernible, showing its size and the direction in which it was turned.
“I see,” Fallon nodded, crouching with Nick to examine it. “Some one recently stepped here, not longer ago than last evening.”
“That some one was a child, a girl, or a woman with a small foot,” Nick replied. “It most likely was the last, a young woman.”
“Why so?”
“Notice the prints of the heel, which sank a little into the sod. It was small and quite high. The deduction is a simple one. Only young women wear shoes with French heels. They are seldom found on girls, or on elderly women.”
“By Jove, you overlook nothing, Nick.”
“Not this, surely, for it stares me in the face,” Nick replied. “Here’s another. Notice that the first points nearly toward the street. This points toward the rear grounds. Plainly, then, the woman was going toward the street when she first stepped from the gravel walk, and she then turned in the opposite direction.”
“That’s plain, too,” Fallon agreed. “But what do you make of it?”
Nick glanced back at the veranda for a moment.
“The woman came from the side door, or from that opening on the veranda,” said he. “She walked as far as here, as if about to go to the street, then she turned toward the rear grounds. Take it from me, Fallon, she was Father Cleary’s first visitor last evening. He let her out, probably through the door opening upon the veranda, and she started for the street. After hearing him close the door, however, and knowing he was not watching her, she turned in the other direction.”
“By Jove, I think you are right.
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”
“Come. We’ll try to follow the tracks.”
Nick traced them with no great difficulty. The trail led him for a short distance diagonally across the grounds toward the back street. Then it diverged abruptly in the direction of the low wall dividing the church property from an adjoining estate.
Gazing over the wall, Nick discovered other tracks in the next yard, where the grass was not as closely trimmed and was considerably trampled down. It was in the side yard of a wooden dwelling somewhat back from the street and about thirty feet from the wall.
Leaping over the low wall, Nick examined the sod and grass. He found numerous intermingled tracks and indentations, including that of a slender heel and others much broader and deeper. Passing his hand over the grass and glancing at the palm, he found it slightly stained with blood.
“Here we have it, Fallon,” he said, rising and displaying his hand. “Here is the key to the mystery, or to a part of it.”
“Good heavens!” Fallon exclaimed, gazing at it and then at the trampled grass. “There was a fight here.”
“A very one-sided fight, Fallon, unless I am much mistaken,” Nick replied.
“You mean?”
“It’s as plain as twice two, Fallon, as far as it goes,” said Nick, confidently. “Father Cleary had a woman visitor last evening. She confided something to him, or revealed it in a confession, about which he then sat down to write to Bishop Cassidy.”
“As the unfinished letter indicates.”
“Exactly. After leaving him and pretending to start for the street, the woman came this way and got over the wall into this yard. Here are her heel prints in the sod. Why she came here and where she intended going is an open question.”
“Plainly.”
“Be that as it may, she went no farther voluntarily,” Nick continued. “She was intercepted by two men, at least; possibly three. I can find at least two different heel tracks in the sod. The depth of them, also the trampled condition of the grass, show plainly that there was a brief struggle. The woman was overcome, though not without bloodshed, as also appears on the grass.”
“Considerable blood, too, Nick, judging from your hand.”
“Enough to tell this part of the story,” Nick replied. “Probably, too, here is where Father Cleary’s assailant got the blood on his right hand, as well as on the outside of the bandage, before entering the rectory.”
“Yes, surely.”
“He tore off the bandage and cast it aside before undertaking the more desperate game,” Nick added. “My opinion is, at present, that the scoundrel knew that the woman had revealed something to the priest, whom he then killed to prevent further exposure, while confederates who were with him got away with the woman. That is my theory. Whether it is correct, or not, remains to be discovered, as well as the identity of the knaves and the whereabouts or fate of the woman.”
“I agree with you,” said Fallon gravely. “That seems to be the most reasonable theory, if not the only one. What’s next to be done. Can we trace these tracks any farther?”
“Not beyond the street, I fear, though I will try to do so,” said Nick. “I will also question the people living
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in this house. They may have heard some disturbance last evening. In the meantime, Fallon, you return to the rectory and notify the coroner and a physician.”
“The coroner is a physician, Doctor Hadley.”
“He will be sufficient, then, for the present,” said Nick. “You had better talk with the chief, also, and tell him what I make of the case. I saw a telephone on a stand in the hall.”
“I saw it, too.”
“Go ahead, then. I will rejoin you there a little later.”
Fallon readily acquiesced, turning and quickly retracing his steps to the rectory.
Nick glanced again at the trampled grass, then traced the several faint tracks as far as the sidewalk, where, as he had expected, the trail ended abruptly.
He then rang at the door of the house, in the side yard of which he had made his latest discoveries. The summons brought a middle-aged woman to the door, who stated in reply to his questions that no disturbance had been heard the previous evening, and that she knew nothing of what had transpired outside of the house.
Nick saw plainly that she was telling the truth, and he did not long detain her. Returning to the sidewalk, he noted that there were no dwellings opposite, only several vacant lots, none of which was inclosed with a fence.
“The rascals may have gone in that direction,” he said to himself, after vainly searching the street for tracks of a carriage or a motor car. “They must, if they got away with the woman, have had a conveyance of some kind. They may have crossed those lots, however, to the next street.”
Bent upon confirming this, if possible, Nick walked in that direction. He had only just entered the nearest of the several lots, however, when he saw some pieces of white paper scattered over the dry ground. They appeared to be fragments of a torn letter, and were so fresh and clean that they must have been recently dropped.
Nick picked up a few of the fragments and examined them. They were written on only one side, in a dainty, feminine hand; but the few words on each piece, none of which was more than an inch square, gave him only a vague idea as to the character of the entire letter.
That was so suggestive, however, that Nick carefully searched the ground for the remaining fragments, which had been somewhat scattered by the wind, or designedly done by the person who had destroyed the letter. He succeeded in finding enough of the fragments to feel reasonably sure that they would nearly complete the torn sheet, and he inclosed them in his notebook.
Nick then crossed the vacant lots to the next street, noting that the locality was one in which such a crime as he now suspected could have been committed without much danger of detection; but he could discover no further clew to the movements of the woman and her assailants, and then retraced his steps to the rectory.
The coroner had arrived during his absence and was viewing the remains of the murdered priest. Nick did not remain to talk with him, however, but beckoned for Fallon to join him on the veranda.
“I must be going, now, for I have an appointment this morning,” he explained. “You can tell Doctor Hadley, also the chief, what I make of the case. Here is Father Cleary’s unfinished letter, which you had better hand to
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the coroner. I will try to see you later and give you further assistance.”
Detective Fallon thanked him, and Nick then departed.
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