The Man Without a Conscience E-Book

Nicholas Carter

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Nick Carter stands for an interesting detective story. The fact that the books in this line are so uniformly good is entirely due to the work of a specialist. The man who wrote these stories produced no other type of fiction. His mind was concentrated upon the creation of new plots and situations in which his hero emerged triumphantly from all sorts of troubles and landed the criminal just where he should be—behind the 

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGEI.AN INQUISITIVE CLERK.5II.MODERN HIGHWAYMEN.14III.NICK CARTER HELD UP.24IV.THE ESCAPE.35V.THE HOUSE IN LAUREL ROAD.46VI.MADAME VICTORIA.62VII.THE DEEPER MYSTERY.76VIII.UNDER THE SURFACE.89IX.BODY AND LIMBS.103X.THE ANCHOR TO WINDWARD.116XI.THE INCENTIVE TO TREACHERY.126XII.THE ROAD TO CANTON.133XIII.CLOSE QUARTERS.147XIV.SHADOWS AND SHADOWED.158XV.ON NICK’S TRAIL.169XVI.A TERRIBLE PREDICAMENT.182XVII.A CRISIS.194XVIII.A LAST RESORT.205XIX.NICK CARTER’S ESCAPE.215

NICK CARTER STORIES

New Magnet Library

Price, Fifteen CentsNot a Dull Book in This List

Nick Carter stands for an interesting detective story. The fact that the books in this line are so uniformly good is entirely due to the work of a specialist. The man who wrote these stories produced no other type of fiction. His mind was concentrated upon the creation of new plots and situations in which his hero emerged triumphantly from all sorts of troubles and landed the criminal just where he should be—behind the bars.

The author of these stories knew more about writing detective stories than any other single person.

Following is a list of the best Nick Carter stories. They have been selected with extreme care, and we unhesitatingly recommend each of them as being fully as interesting as any detective story between cloth covers which sells at ten times the price.

If you do not know Nick Carter, buy a copy of any of the New Magnet Library books, and get acquainted. He will surprise and delight you.

ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT850—Wanted: A ClewBy Nicholas Carter851—A Tangled SkeinBy Nicholas Carter852—The Bullion MysteryBy Nicholas Carter853—The Man of RiddlesBy Nicholas Carter854—A Miscarriage of JusticeBy Nicholas Carter855—The Gloved HandBy Nicholas Carter856—Spoilers and the SpoilsBy Nicholas Carter857—The Deeper GameBy Nicholas Carter858—Bolts from Blue SkiesBy Nicholas Carter859—Unseen FoesBy Nicholas Carter860—Knaves in High PlacesBy Nicholas Carter861—The Microbe of CrimeBy Nicholas Carter862—In the Tolls of FearBy Nicholas Carter863—A Heritage of TroubleBy Nicholas Carter864—Called to AccountBy Nicholas Carter865—The Just and the UnjustBy Nicholas Carter866—Instinct at FaultBy Nicholas Carter867—A Rogue Worth TrappingBy Nicholas Carter868—A Rope of Slender ThreadsBy Nicholas Carter869—The Last CallBy Nicholas Carter870—The Spoils of ChanceBy Nicholas Carter871—A Struggle With DestinyBy Nicholas Carter872—The Slave of CrimeBy Nicholas Carter873—The Crook’s BlindBy Nicholas Carter874—A Rascal of QualityBy Nicholas Carter875—With Shackles of FireBy Nicholas Carter876—The Man Who Changed FacesBy Nicholas Carter877—The Fixed AlibiBy Nicholas Carter878—Out With the TideBy Nicholas Carter879—The Soul DestroyersBy Nicholas Carter880—The Wages of RascalityBy Nicholas Carter881—Birds of PreyBy Nicholas Carter882—When Destruction ThreatensBy Nicholas Carter883—The Keeper of Black HoundsBy Nicholas Carter884—The Door of DoubtBy Nicholas Carter885—The Wolf WithinBy Nicholas Carter886—A Perilous ParoleBy Nicholas Carter887—The Trail of the Finger PrintsBy Nicholas Carter888—Dodging the LawBy Nicholas Carter889—A Crime in ParadiseBy Nicholas Carter890—On the Ragged EdgeBy Nicholas Carter891—The Red God of TragedyBy Nicholas Carter892—The Man Who PaidBy Nicholas Carter893—The Blind Man’s DaughterBy Nicholas Carter894—One Object in LifeBy Nicholas Carter895—As a Crook SowsBy Nicholas Carter896—In Record TimeBy Nicholas Carter897—Held in SuspenseBy Nicholas Carter898—The $100,000 KissBy Nicholas Carter899—Just One SlipBy Nicholas Carter900—On a Million-dollar TrailBy Nicholas Carter901—A Weird TreasureBy Nicholas Carter902—The Middle LinkBy Nicholas Carter903—To the Ends of the EarthBy Nicholas Carter904—When Honors PallBy Nicholas Carter905—The Yellow BrandBy Nicholas Carter906—A New Serpent in EdenBy Nicholas Carter907—When Brave Men TrembleBy Nicholas Carter908—A Test of CourageBy Nicholas Carter909—Where Peril BeckonsBy Nicholas Carter910—The Gargoni GirdleBy Nicholas Carter911—Rascals & CoBy Nicholas Carter912—Too Late to TalkBy Nicholas Carter913—Satan’s Apt PupilBy Nicholas Carter914—The Girl PrisonerBy Nicholas Carter915—The Danger of FollyBy Nicholas Carter916—One Shipwreck Too ManyBy Nicholas Carter917—Scourged by FearBy Nicholas Carter918—The Red PlagueBy Nicholas Carter919—Scoundrels RampantBy Nicholas Carter920—From Clew to ClewBy Nicholas Carter921—When Rogues ConspireBy Nicholas Carter922—Twelve in a GraveBy Nicholas Carter923—The Great Opium CaseBy Nicholas Carter924—A Conspiracy of RumorsBy Nicholas Carter925—A Klondike ClaimBy Nicholas Carter926—The Evil FormulaBy Nicholas Carter927—The Man of Many FacesBy Nicholas Carter928—The Great EnigmaBy Nicholas Carter929—The Burden of ProofBy Nicholas Carter930—The Stolen BrainBy Nicholas Carter931—A Titled CounterfeiterBy Nicholas Carter932—The Magic NecklaceBy Nicholas Carter933—’Round the World for a QuarterBy Nicholas Carter934—Over the Edge of the WorldBy Nicholas Carter935—In the Grip of FateBy Nicholas Carter936—The Case of Many ClewsBy Nicholas Carter937—The Sealed DoorBy Nicholas Carter938—Nick Carter and the Green Goods MenBy Nicholas Carter939—The Man Without a WillBy Nicholas Carter940—Tracked Across the AtlanticBy Nicholas Carter941—A Clew From the UnknownBy Nicholas Carter942—The Crime of a CountessBy Nicholas Carter943—A Mixed Up MessBy Nicholas Carter944—The Great Money Order SwindleBy Nicholas Carter945—The Adder’s BroodBy Nicholas Carter946—A Wall Street HaulBy Nicholas Carter947—For a Pawned CrownBy Nicholas Carter

THE MAN WITHOUT A CONSCIENCE

OR,

FROM ROGUE TO CONVICT

BY

NICHOLAS CARTER

Author of the celebrated stories of Nick Carter’s adventures, which are published exclusively in the New Magnet Library, conceded to be among the best detective tales ever written.

Librorium Editions 2020

Copyright, 1906 By STREET & SMITH

The Man Without a Conscience

(Printed in the United States of America)

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.

THE MAN WITHOUT A CONSCIENCE.

CHAPTER I.AN INQUISITIVE CLERK.

“Bureau of Secret Investigation.”

Nick Carter glanced at the above sign over the door, an unpretentious and somewhat faded reminder of better days, while he descended the flight of stone steps leading into the basement offices of the Boston police department.

The sunlight lay warm and bright in Pemberton Square at ten o’clock that May morning, shedding over the magnificent new court-house a golden glory consistent, no doubt, with the wise dispensation of justice, yet in monstrous anomaly with some of the dreadful experiences and grim episodes sometimes enacted within those splendid sunlit walls.

Nick turned to the right in the main corridor and entered the adjoining office, quite a commodious room, in which the general business of this secret service branch of the local police department was conducted.

The enclosure back of the chief clerk’s high desk, which also was topped with a brass grating, happened to be vacant when Nick entered. In one corner of the room, however, a subordinate clerk was busily engaged in attempting to repair a slight leak in the faucet of the ice-water vessel, and to this young man the famous New York detective addressed himself.

“Has the chief been in this morning?” he asked.

The clerk bobbed up from his work as if startled, drying his hands with his handkerchief, and stared sharply at Nick for several moments. But he saw nothing familiar in the stranger’s grave, clean-cut features.

For all that this clerk knew, or surmised, Nick might have been an ordinary or very humble citizen, who had quietly dropped in there for want of something better to do.

“Chief Weston?” he returned inquiringly, still sharply scrutinizing Nick.

“There is no other chief in this department, is there?” was Nick’s reply, with a subtle tinge of irony.

“Well—no.”

“Chief Weston, yes,” bowed Nick. “Is he in his office?”

“I believe so.”

“Busy?”

“I reckon he is, just now.”

“Reckon, eh? Don’t you know?”

“Yes, sir, he’s busy,” the clerk now said, a bit curtly, flushing slightly under the detective’s keen eye and quietly persistent inquiries.

“He’s not too busy to see me, I think,” replied Nick, with dry assurance. “Go in and tell him I’m here.”

“Who are you?”

“Never mind who I am.”

“I’ll take in your card.”

“No card,” said Nick tersely.

“Your name, then?”

“Nor any name.”

“But——”

“Merely tell the chief that his friend from New York is here.”

The expression in the eyes of the irritated clerk lost none of its searching interest, yet they now took on a rather different light, as if he had been suddenly hit with an idea. Yet he still frowned slightly and said:

“If you object to having your name mentioned——”

“I do object, young man,” Nick now interrupted, with ominously quiet determination. “Your chief may possibly have persons in his office before whom I do not care to have my name announced. Now, you go to him and deliver my message just as I gave it to you, neither more nor less, or you’ll very suddenly hear something drop—providing you still retain your senses.”

Now the clerk laughed, as if amused by the cool terms of the quiet threat, and then he turned quickly and vanished into a short passageway between the outer room and Chief Weston’s private office.

Nick gazed after him with a rather quizzical stare—a slender chap of about twenty-five, with reddish hair, thin features, a sallow complexion thickly dotted with freckles, and a countenance lighted by a pair of narrow gray eyes, that greenish-gray sometimes seen in the eyes of a cat.

“I wonder what use they have for him around here?” Nick said to himself, while waiting. “If I were chief in this joint, it’s long odds that that red-headed monkey would get his walking-ticket in short order.”

The subject of these uncomplimentary cogitations returned in less than a minute.

“You are to walk right in, sir—this way,” he glibly announced, with much more deference.

At the same time he opened the way for Nick to pass into the enclosure, and through the passage mentioned.

“Thank you,” said Nick, with half a growl.

“Don’t mention it,” grinned the clerk. “Straight ahead, sir. Chief Weston is at his desk.”

Nick heard, meantime, the tramp of men through a corridor adjoining the opposite side of the outer office, and he knew that Chief Weston had immediately dismissed them, to receive him in private.

“So, so; the business is important,” he rightly conjectured.

The door closed behind Nick of itself, but the snap of the catch-lock hung fire until after the hearty voice of the Boston chief of detectives, as he arose and gripped Nick by the hand, had sounded through the room.

“How are you, Nick?” he cried cordially. “I’m a thousand times more than glad to see you, Carter, on my word.”

“Same to you, Weston,” laughed Nick. “Some time has passed since we met.”

“Too long a time, eh?”

“That’s right, too.”

“Have a chair.”

Now the catch-lock snapped lightly.

A finger between the door and the jamb had been withdrawn.

A reddish head drew away from the panel, a pair of ears ceased their strained attention, a light step retreated through the passage, and two narrow gray eyes like those of a cat indicated that their owner had now satisfied his inquisitive yearning, and learned the name of the visitor who so peremptorily had issued his commands.

As Nick accepted a chair near that taken by Weston at his desk, he carelessly jerked his thumb toward the door by which he had entered.

“Where’d you get him, Weston?” he asked dryly.

“Get whom?” queried the chief, with inquiring eyes.

“The clerk.”

“Hyde—the one who announced you?”

“The same.”

“Oh, he’s been at work on the books out there for about a year. He’s only an assistant clerk.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Why did you ask?”

“For no reason.”

“Nonsense! You must have had some reason, Nick.”

“None of consequence,” smiled Nick. “I asked about him, in fact, only because I had to fairly drive him in here when I declined to send in a card or mention my name.”

Chief Weston threw back his head and laughed.

“That’s easily explained,” said he, still chuckling. “I growl at him roundly at regular intervals, Nick, for annoying me with visitors whom I neither know nor wish to see. I am getting him by degrees, however, so that he requires the whole pedigree of a caller before announcing him, which is about as bad a fault, I imagine. Sandy is all right, though, in his own peculiar way.”

“Sandy, eh? That’s a nickname, I take it, because of his red hair?”

“No, not exactly. His name is Sanderson Hyde.”

“Ah, just so.”

“I took him in to oblige a journalist friend,” added Weston, smiling. “It’s always well to stand ace-high with the press, you know.”

“That’s right, too,” nodded Nick, now willing to digress. “You sent for me to come over here from New York, Weston. What do you want of me?”

“You got my wire?”

“Certainly.”

“Did Chick come with you?”

“No,” replied Nick, at this reference to his chief assistant. “I came over alone.”

“Are you busy in New York just now?”

“I’m always busy, Weston.”

“Too busy to undertake a little work for me?”

“Where?”

“In and about Boston.”

“What’s the nature of it?”

“There is nothing in giving you all of the details, Nick, unless you are in a position to accept an offer and help me out,” Chief Weston gravely rejoined. “First of all, Nick, may I count on you?”

The brows of the celebrated New York detective knit a little closer over his keen gray eyes. He drew up a bit in his chair, remarking gravely:

“Your business is important, Weston, or you would not have sent for me.”

“Very important.”

“A serious matter?”

“Decidedly.”

“Have your own men tackled it?”

“Yes, the very best of them.”

“With no results?”

“None but absolute failure.”

“Are they now at work on the case?”

“Some of them.”

“And you wish me to take a hand in the work?”

“I certainly do.”

“If I consent to do so, Weston, I shall impose one condition,” said Nick decidedly.

“I expect it.”

“You do?”

“Certainly,” nodded the chief. “Am I not familiar with your methods? You will require me to order all of my men off the case and give it entirely to you.”

“That’s the condition,” said Nick bluntly.

“I will accept it.”

“And leave the matter to me alone?”

“Precisely. In no way whatever shall you be interfered with.”

“Very good.”

“You will undertake the work for me?”

“I will hear of what it consists,” replied Nick, with his curiosity stirred. “If it is all that your remarks imply—well, Weston, you may then count on me to give it an argument.”

“Capital.”

“Now, cut loose and give me the facts of the case.”

Chief Weston opened a drawer of his desk and took out a batch of papers and documents, among which was a neatly mounted photograph about five inches square, such as may be taken with a small portable camera, or a kodak.

While he placed the papers on his desk, he handed the photograph to Nick Carter, saying impressively:

“First examine this, Nick, and tell me what you make of it.”

CHAPTER II.MODERN HIGHWAYMEN.

While the Boston chief sat silently regarding him, Nick Carter studied the photograph attentively for several moments.

“H’m!” he presently grunted. “The picture is quite plain. Two automobiles appear to have met in a lonely woodland road.”

“Precisely.”

“Only part of one of them is visible in the picture,” continued Nick, commenting upon the various details. “The picture was evidently taken by an occupant of one of the cars.”

“Correct.”

“In the road near the other machine stands a very tall woman, closely veiled, who is pointing a revolver, evidently at the occupants of the other car.”

“Exactly.”

“They are not visible in the picture, however, except the extended hand of one of them, obviously the hand of a woman. She is passing a purse, two watches, and what appears to be several pieces of jewelry, to a masked man, who is standing near the woman holding the leveled revolver.”

“Those are the main features of the picture, Nick,” nodded Weston. “Now, what do you make of it?”

Nick glanced up and replied: