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- Herausgeber: Edizioni Savine
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
TRIM CARTER SON OF THE FAMOUS “CHICK CARTER,”
Will be the leading character in the NEW SERIES of DETECTIVE STORIES, in the NEW NICK CARTER LIBRARY
Trim Carter brings to the detective's profession a special education and life training for the work, with the benefit of Nick Carter’s and “ Chick ” Carter's unlimited experience to further aid him. With these added helps to a young man already equipped with extraordinary natural ability for his chosen calling, the public may look for the most interesting stories of detective work ever written
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TRIM AMONG THE ESQUIMAUX;
OR,
A Long Night in the Frozen North
by
the Author of “ NICK CARTER.”
John Russel Coryell
CHAPTER I.
OUTWITTED BY A WOMAN.
Tick-tick-tick—tick.
Silence.
Tick-tick—tick.
A whispered consultation.
Tick-tick-tick—tick.
“It’s all right.”
“May be a trick.”
“No. Nobody knows the signal who isn’t all right.”
“Go to the door and see.”
Tick-
The rapping began again, this time louder than before, as if the party outside were getting impatient,
Before the signal had been repeated the door upon which the rapping occurred was opened a crack and a gruff voice said:
“What’s wanted?”
“I want to come in, of course,” was the frank reply. “What in the world has come over you fellers thet you don’t open up the first time you hear the signal?”
“Hello, Trim!” responded the voice behind the door, speaking now more freely. “Slip in quietly and don’t talk so loud.”
“What’s happened to scare you?” asked Trim as he dodged through the half-open door into a perfectly dark room.
“We got the tip,” said a voice in the darkness, “thet thare was thought of raidin’ the joint, an’ we kind of half suspected that somebody hed given away the signal. ”
“Thare’s not many thet knows the signal, is thare?”
“No. Turn up the lights, Jim.”
“I shouldn’t hey thought thet you could suspect anybody of being a traitor.”
“Oh, we don’t. But, you know, thare’s never any tellin’. You see, somebody might hev been listenin’ for the signal an’ hev learned it without our knowin’ it.
“The fact is, Trim, thet since you hev been in Sitka a good many of us hev learned thet it is possible for one man to know a thunderin’ lot about another, an’ to get on to his tricks in a way thet is surprisin’.”
Trim laughed lightly.
“If I do say it,” he responded, “I don’t think thare’s anybody in Alaska just like me at this time, an’ you fellers hev certainly nothin’ to fear from me.” “Oh, no, we know you’re square.”
At this moment, a member of the party who had been attending to the lamps struck a match and the room was lighted.
It was one of three or four small rooms at the back of a saloon which was a favorite resort for the toughest characters in the Alaskan capital.
It was now long after the hour at which the sale of liquors was forbidden, and recent events in Sitka had made the officers of the law much more strict than usual.
Trim’s own experience in uncovering crime there had led the authorities to take more than usual precautions to prevent the assembling of toughs, and therefore in this resort the greatest care was taken not to let the police suspect that any business was done after hours.
Trim himself was known to be so square that nobody in Sitka, high or low, feared that he would play them any trick. In fact, the roughest characters there were rather inclined to be unusually friendly with him, as if they hoped by that means to escape trouble at his hands if they should be charged with any kind of crime.
So, in spite of his recent detective work, he was still able to come and go as he pleased among the very men whose actions might give rise to further work on his part.
When the half dozen who had gathered there on this night heard the peculiar series of raps that announced the arrival of a visitor, they turned out the lights and kept still.
The second series of raps, differing from the first in the manner indicated above, convinced them that the person outside was familiar with their ways.
Now that they knew the visitor to be young Trim Carter, their fears of discovery vanished, but they continued to converse in low tones, and only had just enough light in the room to enable them to reach for their glasses and move about without knocking things over.
“What’ll you hev, Trim?” asked the proprietor of the place.
Trim called for beer and a cigar and sat down at a small table as if he intended to make a night of it.
“Are you goin’ to do any more detective work yere?” asked one of the men. Trim shrugged his shoulders.
“I didn’t come to Alaska,” he responded, “with any idee of doin’ detective work, an’ when I took up the gold mine case I thought thet would be my last experiment.
“Things just happened to come along to keep me hustling in thet line, but I’ve not yet thought of myself es a regular detective.”
“Thet ain’t quite answerin’ the question.”
“Ain’t it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why, you was asked ef you was goin’ to do any more detective work yere.” “Well, I was tryin’ to explain thet I can’t answer thet question, for I don’t know what will happen.”
“Guess you’re ready for whatever turns up.”
“Bet your life, Petey. Thet’s what I always tried to be since I started out in life.”
“Say, Trim, you Started out pretty young, didn’t you?”
“Reckon I did. Reckon I began to live as soon es I drawed my first breath.” The men laughed quietly at this, and after a pause Trim remarked:
“Right straight, now, I shouldn’t won der ef this would be my last visit yere. “Why?
“I’m thinkin’ of leavin’ Sitka.”
“You don’t say?”
“I do. I’ve stayed yere longer now than I intended to.”
“Where be you goin’?”
“Oh, I’ve not made up my mind exactly yet, but to some other part of the world, I suppose. ”
“We’ll be sorry to hev you go, Trim.” “Thanks.”
The doors into two adjoining rooms were wide open. There was no lamp in either of them, but the light from the main room gave a dim view of their interiors.
Unnoticed by the men in the dive, Trim had glanced into these rooms the moment one of the number struck a match. Apparently they were empty.
As his eyes became accustomed to the light, however, he saw that in one of the rooms there was a man seated before a table with his back to the company and his head resting on his outstretched arms.
It was so dark that Trim could not even judge of the size of this man or tell what kind of clothes he wore, much less recognize him.
The young fellow sat down in such a way that he could command a view of that room, such as it was.
During the conversation, which Trim, in spite of the cautions of the proprietor, conducted in a rather loud voice, he kept his eyes on this man, but up to this time had failed to notice any movement.
It looked as though the fellow was in a drunken slumber. There was nothing unusual in that. In fact, it was the most commonplace thing to see in one of the back rooms one or more men who had drunk too much, and who had been put in there to sleep off the effects of liquor.
“That fellow, ” Trim thought, “is probably in the middle of a jag. At the same time, I wish something would happen to give me a sight of his face.
“He is so hunched up that I can’t make out whether he is bigger or smaller than Ole Hansen.”
In a previous investigation, the details of which have been set forth in “Trim and the Swedish Swindler,” No. 3 of Nick Carter Library, Trim caught a man named Ole Hansen in a series of robberies.
Ole was simply a tool of a shrewd impostor, who had been thoroughly exposed by Trim and placed where, for some years at least, he could be of no damage to anybody.
Ole had managed to get away, and Trim, exasperated by this fact, had made up his mind that he would run the fellow down and land him in jail with his master before leaving Alaska.
The last seen of Ole, he was making his way through the forest to the south of Sitka.
As long as he could find food and shelter he could defy capture in the wilderness of the island, but winter was now at hand, and there was no probability that a fugitive could survive long in the extreme cold of the woods and mountains.
Trim was of the opinion that Ole would be forced to return to Sitka. There was no other place to which he could go for shelter, and it was not at all probable that he had any means of escape by sea without going to Sitka for a boat.
For two or three days, therefore, Trim had been on the watch for any sign of Ole, but as yet had seen and heard nothing to indicate that the fellow was in the vicinity.
His late visit to this dive was but a part of his programme of keeping his eyes open for the fugitive.
“When you thinkin’ of goin’, Trim?” one of the men asked.
“I’ve not decided yet. In a day or two, perhaps.”
“Thare ain’t no boat leavin’ Sitka at this time of year,” suggested another.
“No, thare ain’t,” Trim admitted. “But likely I don’t need to depend on thet."
“I suppose likely,” said another, “thet you’re own yacht will be callin’ fer you. ”
“Well, now, thet wouldn’t be the most surprisin’' thing in the world,” Trim answered. “But anyhow this is likely to be my last call yere, so ef you gentlemen don’t object I’ll set ’em up.”
Of course the “gentlemen” did not object, and the proprietor hastened to set bottles and glasses before them.
While this was in progress a young woman came into the adjoining room through a door that opened from some other part of the building.
She glanced carelessly toward the party of whom Trim was a member, and sat down beside the man whose head was sunk upon his arms.
