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Astronomy Principles and Practice Fourth Edition A.E.
Roy Digital Instant Download
Author(s): A.E. Roy, D. Clarke
ISBN(s): 0750309172
Edition: 4
File Details: PDF, 5.69 MB
Year: 2003
Language: english
Part 1:

Introduction
Chapter 1

Naked eye observations

1.1 Introduction

The etymology of the word ‘Astronomy’ implies that it was the discipline involved in ‘the arranging
of the stars’. Today we might say that astronomy is our attempt to study and understand celestial
phenomena, part of the never-ending urge to discover order in nature. We do not know who were
the first astronomers—what we do know is that the science of astronomy was well advanced in parts
of Europe by the middle of the third millennium BC and that the Chinese people had astronomical
schools as early as 2000 BC. In all ages, from the burgeoning of man’s intelligence, there have been
people fascinated by the heavens and their changing aspect and these people, as far as their cultural
environment has allowed them, have tried to formulate cosmologies. We are no different today.
Nowadays, the word ‘Astrophysics’ is also used to describe the study of the celestial bodies. In
fact, many astronomers use both terms quite generally and it is not infrequent to find Departments
of Astronomy and Astrophysics within educational establishments. The question may well be asked
‘What is the difference between Astronomy and Astrophysics?’ Very loosely, Astronomy might be
defined as the subject of the ‘where and when’ related to the description of a celestial body with the
‘why and how’ being covered more by Astrophysics. Rather than trying to provide a hard and fast rule
for the terminology, we will simply use Astronomy to cover all aspects of the description of the skies
and the Universe.
If our current theories of the Universe are nearer the truth, it is probably not that our intelligence
has increased in the past six millennia. It is more likely that the main factor has been the discovery and
development of the ‘scientific method’, which has led to our present civilization based on the flood of
technological advantages provided by this method. This has enabled scientists in far greater numbers
than ever before to devote their lives to the study of the heavens, assisted by telescopes, computers,
space vehicles and a multitude of other equipment. Their attempts to interpret and understand the
wealth of new information provided by these new instruments have been aided by allied sciences such
as physics, chemistry, geology, mathematics and so on.
We must remember, however, that for more than nine-tenths of the last five thousand years of
our study of the heavens, we have had to rely on the unaided eye. The Mediterranean people who
set the constellations in the sky, the Babylonians, Egyptians and Greeks, the Arabian astronomers
who flourished during the Dark Ages of Post-Roman Europe, the Chinese, the Mayan and other early
American astronomers, all built their theories of the Universe on naked eye observations. And so we
begin by following in their footsteps and seeing what they saw as they observed over a few minutes
(see section 1.2), over a few hours (see section 1.3), over a month (see section 1.4) or over at least a
year (see section 1.5). In this way, we will find it easier to understand why their cosmological theories
were formulated in their particular ways.

3
4 Naked eye observations

1.2 Instantaneous phenomena

1.2.1 Day
During the day a variety of phenomena may be seen. In a particular direction lies the Sun, so bright it
is impossible (and dangerous) to look directly at it. In general, the sky background is blue. The Moon
may also be visible, having a distinct shape though certainly not circular. If the Sun has just set or if
dawn is not far away, there is sufficient daylight to see clearly. We call this condition twilight.
On the horizon opposite to the twilight glow, a dark purple band is sometimes seen. This area
corresponds to a zone on the sky which is cut off from the direct sunlight by the Earth and is receiving
very little light by scattering from the atoms and molecules in the atmosphere. It corresponds, in fact,
to the shadow of the Earth in the sky. Its presence tells us of the extreme purity and low humidity of
the local atmosphere. Needless to say, it is very rarely seen in Britain.
To the ancients, clouds, wind, rain, hail and other atmospheric phenomena were inadequately
distinguished from what we term celestial events. Our civilization includes them in meteorology, a
science quite distinct from astronomy, so that we need not consider them further, except to remark that
astronomers’ observations have, until recently, been dependent entirely upon good weather conditions
being available. With the development of radio telescopes and the fact that other equipment can be
placed in artificial satellites and operated above the Earth’s atmosphere, this dependence is no longer
complete.

1.2.2 Night
If seeing conditions are favourable, a view of the night sky provides a far wider variety of celestial
phenomena. If the Moon is visible, its brightness will dominate that of all other objects. Its shape will
be crescent or gibbous or even circular. At the last condition, its apparent diameter is very close to that
of the Sun. To anyone with reasonable eyesight, its surface will not be evenly bright. Areas darker than
their surroundings will be noticed, so that the fancy of primitive man could see a ‘Man in the Moon’, a
‘Beautiful Lady’ or a ‘Rabbit’, sketched out by these features.
In addition to the Moon, some two to three thousand tiny, twinkling points of light—the stars—are
seen, ranging in brightness from ones easily visible just after sunset to ones just visible when the Moon
is below the horizon and the sky background is darkest. Careful comparison of one bright star with
another shows that stars have different colours; for example, in the star pattern of Orion, one of the
many constellations, Betelgeuse is a red star in contrast to the blue of Rigel. The apparent distribution
of stars across the vault of heaven seems random.
With the eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness, a faint band of light, the Milky Way, catches
the observer’s attention. Modern astronomers, with the aid of telescopes, know that this luminous
region stretching from horizon to horizon across the sky in a great circle is made up of a myriad of
stars too faint to be resolved with the naked eye. To the ancient observer, its presence inspired all kinds
of speculations, none of them verifiable.
One or two of the tiny points of light may draw a closer scrutiny. They shine steadily, in contrast
to the twinkling of the stars and they are among the brightest of the star-like objects. There must be
some reason why they are different. If our observer is going to watch for a few hours, attention will be
returned to these objects.

1.3 A few hours

1.3.1 Day
The heavens are never static. The slowly-moving shadow cast by an upright rod or a boulder or tree
reveals the Sun’s movement across the sky. If observation is kept up throughout the day, the Sun is
 A month 5

seen to rise above the eastern horizon, climb up the sky in a circle inclined at some angle to the plane
defined by the horizon and culminate, i.e. reach a maximum altitude above the line joining the north
to the south points, then descend in a mirror image of its forenoon path to set on the western horizon.
If the Moon is seen during that day, it will appear to imitate the Sun’s behaviour in rising and setting.

1.3.2 Night
As darkness falls, the first stars become visible above the eastern horizon. With the ending of twilight
the fainter stars can be seen and, as the hours pass, the stellar groups rise from the eastern horizon,
reach their maximum altitude like the Sun, then set or become dim and invisible as daylight returns.
The impression of being on a flat plane surmounted by a dark revolving bowl to which the stars are
attached is strong, especially when it is seen that there are many stars in a particular region of the sky
that revolve, never rising, never setting, about a hub or pivot. These stars are said to be circumpolar.
It is then clear that those other stars that rise and set do so simply because their circular paths about
this pole are so big that they intersect the horizon.
The Moon also revolves across this upturned bowl. Although the Moon appears to have an angular
motion across the sky similar to that of the stars, careful observation over a few hours reveals that it
moves slightly eastwards relative to the star background.
Occasionally a bright object, called a meteor, shoots across the sky in a second, looking like a
fast-moving or ‘falling star’. It may be too that faintly luminous sheets are seen, hanging down the
bowl of the heavens like great curtains. These are the auroraeW 1.1 .
If our observer is watching at any time after October 4, 1957, it is quite likely that one or more
faint specks of light will be seen to cross the sky, taking a few minutes to do so, their presence giving
reminder that man-made satellites are now in orbit about the Earth. Indeed, one of the latest satellites—
the International Space StationW 1.2 —is exceedingly bright—as bright as the brightest planet Venus—
and bears testament to the continual development of manned orbiting laboratories.

1.4 A month
The month is the next period of any significance to our watcher. During this time, the ideas about the
heavens and their movements change. It will be noted that after a few nights the first group of stars
seen above the eastern horizon just after sunset is markedly higher at first sight, with other groups
under it becoming the first stars to appear. Indeed, after a month, the first group is about thirty degrees
above the eastern horizon when the first stars are seen after sunset. It is then apparent that the Sun must
shift its position against the stellar background as time passes. The rate is slow (about one degree per
day—or about two apparent solar diameters) compared with its daily, or diurnal, movement about the
Earth.
The Sun is not the only object to move independently of the stellar patterns. A few nights’
observations of the Moon’s position against the stars (its sidereal position) show that it too moves but
at a much faster rate, about thirteen degrees per day, so that it is seen to make one complete revolution
of the stellar background in twenty-seven and one-third days, returning to the same constellation it
occupied at the beginning of the month. In addition, its shape changes. From a thin crescent, like a
reversed ‘C’, seen in the west just after sunset, it progresses to the phase we call first quarter about
seven days later. At this phase, the Moon’s terminator is seen to be almost a straight line. Fourteen
days after new moon, it is full and at its brightest, appearing at its highest in the sky about midnight.
Seven days later it has dwindled to third quarter and rises before the Sun, a pale thin crescent once
more, a mirror image of its phase just after new moon. Twenty-nine and one-half days after new moon,
it is new once more.
It was a fairly easy matter for the ancients to ascertain that the Moon was nearer the Earth than the
stars. Frequently the Moon was seen to blot out a star, occulting it until it reappeared at the other edge
6 Naked eye observations

Figure 1.1. The change in length of a shadow according to the time of day and the time of year.

of the Moon’s disc. And occasionally the Moon was eclipsed, the Earth progressively blocking off the
sunlight until the satellite’s brightness had diminished to a dull, coppery hue. An even more alarming,
but rarer, occurrence took place at times during daylight: the Moon revealed its unseen presence near
the Sun by eclipsing the solar disc, turning day into night, causing birds to seek their nests and creating
superstitious fear in the mind of primitive man.
The observer who studies the night sky for a month or so also discovers something new about the
one or two star-like objects noted that do not twinkle. Careful marking of their positions with respect
to neighbouring stars shows that they too are moving against the stellar background. There does not
seem to be much system, however, about these movements. In the course of a month, one may move
in the direction the Moon travels in, while a second object, in another part of the sky, may move in the
opposite direction. Indeed, towards the end of this month’s observing sessions, either object may cease
to move, seem almost to change its mind and begin to retrace its steps on the celestial sphere. These
wanderers, or planets (‘planet’ is a Greek word meaning ‘wanderer’), are obviously of a different
nature from that of the fixed, twinkling stars.

1.5 A year

A year’s patient observing, by day and night, provides the watcher with new concepts. For example,
the Sun’s daily behaviour, moving easterly bit by bit, is linked to the seasonal changes.
Each day, for most observers, the Sun rises, increases altitude until it culminates on the meridian
at apparent noon, then falls down the sky until it sets on the western horizon. We have seen that this
progress can be studied by noting the changes in direction and length of the shadow cast by a vertical
rod stuck in the ground (see figure 1.1).
As the days pass, the minimum daily length of shadow (at apparent noon) is seen to change,
becoming longest during winter and shortest during summer. This behaviour is also linked with
changes in the rising and setting directions of the Sun. Six months after the Sun has risen between
north and east and setting between north and west, it is rising between south and east and setting
 A year 7

between south and west. Another six months has to pass before the solar cycle is completed, with the
Sun once more rising between north and east and setting between north and west.
All this could be explained by supposing that the Sun not only revolved with the stars on the
celestial sphere about the Earth in one day (its diurnal movement) but that it also moved much more
slowly along the path among the stars on the celestial sphere, making one revolution in one year,
returning to its original position with respect to the stars in that period of time. We have already seen
that the observer who notes over a month what group of stars is first visible above the eastern horizon
after sunset will have already come to the conclusion that the Sun moves relative to the stars. Now it
is seen that there is a regular secular progression right round the stellar background and that when the
Sun has returned to its original stellar position, the seasonal cycle is also completed.
The Sun’s stellar route was called the ecliptic by the ancients. The groups of stars intersected
by this path were called the houses of the Zodiac. The ecliptic is found to be a great circle inclined
at about 23 12 degrees to the equator, the great circle on the sky corresponding to the projection of the
Earth’s equator, intersecting it at two points, the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, 180 degrees apart.
It was quite natural, then, for the ancients to worship the Sun. Not only did it provide light and
warmth by day against the evils of the night but, in addition, its yearly progression was intimately
linked to the seasons and so also to seed time and harvest. It was, therefore, necessary to keep track of
progress to use it as a clock and a calendar. To this end, the science of sundial-making began, ramifying
from simple obelisks that throw shadows on a fan of lines radiating from their bases, to extremely
ingenious and complicated erections in stone and metal. Up to the 19th century, these constructions
rivalled most pocket-watches in accuracy as timekeepers.
For calendrical purposes, lines of standing stones could be set up, pointing to the midsummer,
midwinter and equinoctial rising and setting points of the Sun. In the British Isles, there still remain
hundreds of such solar observatories, witnesses to our forefathers’ preoccupation with the Sun-god.
The observer who watches the night sky throughout a year counts about thirteen revolutions of the
stellar background by the Moon in that time. Over that period of time, it is not apparent that any simple
relationship exists between the sidereal period of revolution of the Moon, the period of its phases and
the year (the time it takes the Sun to perform one complete circuit of the ecliptic). That knowledge
comes after much more extended observation, certainly measured in decades.
It would be noticed, however, that the Moon’s sidereal path is very little inclined to the ecliptic
(about five degrees) and if records were kept of the points of the ecliptic crossed by the Moon, it might
be realized that these points were slipping westwards at a rate of about twenty degrees per year (see
figure 1.2).
More information, too, would be acquired about the star-like objects that do not twinkle and
which have been found in the course of a month to have a slow movement with respect to the stellar
background. These planets, like the Moon, would never be seen more than a few degrees from the plane
of the ecliptic, yet month after month they would journey through constellation after constellation. In
the case of one or two, their paths would include narrow loops, though only one loop would be observed
for each of these planets in the course of the year.
The year’s observations would not add much to the observer’s knowledge of the stars, except
to confirm that their positions and brightnesses relative to each other did not alter and that each star,
unlike the Sun, had its own fixed rising and setting direction, unless it was circumpolar. It is possible,
however, that in a year, the extra-careful watcher might have cause to wonder if the conclusions about
stars were without exception for, by regular comparison of the brightness of one star with respect to
that of neighbouring ones, it might be discovered that a few stars were variable in brightness. This
was certainly known to the Arabian astronomers of the Middle Ages. The appearance of a nova might
even be observed, i.e. a star appearing in a position where one had not been previously noted. This
occurrence might well lead to doubt about the knowledge of the now familiar constellations—in any
event it could bring about the decision to make a star map for future use if the phenomenon happened
again. It is also possible that in the course of a year the observer might see a comet, a star-like object
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 CHAPTER XIII.
CHICK SIGHTS THE “BUZZARD.”

“Who is it, please?”

Chick Carter, with his ear to the receiver, waited for the reply.
“This is Winthrop Crawford. I wish to speak to Mr. Nick Carter, if I
may.”
It was about two o’clock in the afternoon of the same day that
had witnessed the meeting of Stone and Doctor Follansbee.
Unfortunately, Nick had just left the house, but his assistant had
heard about Crawford.
“The chief isn’t in just now, Mr. Crawford,” he said, “but I don’t
think he’ll be gone very long. Is there anything I can do for you? I’m
his assistant.”
“Are you the man who was with him on board the Cortez?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you’ll do as well, then. Are you busy just now?”
“No.”
“Could you come down to the Hotel Windermere? I don’t suppose
it’s very much, but I’d like to talk with one of you. I could come to
your house, though, if you prefer.”
There was no reason why Chick should not accept the invitation.
“No,” he said. “I’ll come down. I’m afraid I can’t reach the hotel
before three, though.”
“Oh, that’s all right; there’s no particular hurry.”
The detective replaced the receiver, saw to a few matters which
demanded his attention, and then, after some twenty-five or thirty
minutes, scribbled a brief message to his chief, and left it on the
latter’s desk—the usual information, telling where he had gone, and
why.
Chick had never accustomed himself to riding in motor cars when
it was unnecessary; therefore, he set out briskly for the nearest
subway station.
“The chief seems very interested in Crawford,” he thought, as he
walked along. “We might as well get in touch with him as soon as
we can.”
He reached the Windermere a little after three, and found
Crawford waiting for him in the lobby.
The bearded man seemed to be troubled about something, but
his face brightened when Chick appeared. He led the way to one of
the rooms which opened off the lobby. It proved to be deserted.
“It’s nothing very important,” Crawford explained, when they had
seated themselves in a quiet, remote corner, “but I’m just a little
troubled about my partner, Stone. He left the hotel immediately after
breakfast this morning, and wouldn’t tell me where he was going. He
said he would be back in time for lunch, but he hasn’t turned up
yet.” He glanced at Chick for a moment. “Of course. I’m not going to
worry much about that,” he went on, “but in case he doesn’t appear
by dinner time, I just wanted to know what to do. This New York of
yours is a very bewildering place to a man who hasn’t been in it for
twenty-five or thirty years, and I would be at a loss to know how to
proceed.”
“Oh, that’s easy enough,” Chick said quietly. “If he doesn’t show
up by night, and you don’t get a message, the best thing to do
would be to ring up police headquarters and give a description of
him. If anything had happened, they would be in a position to let
you know sooner than any one else. They have the whole thing at
their finger’s ends down there, and handle ordinary cases with
routine dispatch. You mustn’t have any anxiety about Mr. Stone,
though. He’s surely able to take care of himself. He may have fallen
in with some old friends, or made a new one.”
 “It does sound foolish, and I suppose you’re right,” Crawford
admitted. “This place has got me scared, though. I have been used
to solitude for a good many years, and the only crowds I’ve known
have been those about the bars in mining camps. There must be a
frightful number of accidents here every day.”
He turned slightly in his chair and looked out through a near-by
window into the traffic-filled street.
“You’re free to laugh at me,” he went on, “but I’m almost afraid
to venture out alone. It looks to me as if a man has to take his life in
his hands every time he crosses the street in this pandemonium.” He
paused again and smiled appealingly. “If you’ve got an hour or so to
spare, would it be too much to ask you to pilot me around a bit?” he
inquired. “I’d appreciate it, I assure you.”
The deep, friendly voice had a certain charm in it which the
detective found it impossible to resist.
“Of course I’ll come gladly,” he said.
He and Crawford left the hotel and strolled along the crowded
pavements. The grizzled miner seemed to find a keen delight in
halting to examine almost every window they passed.
“Spending years in the open makes a man fairly hungry for this
sort of thing. I’ve longed to be back home again just to look into
these very shop windows.”
His enthusiasm was infectious, and he and Chick walked along,
laughing and chatting together. They dropped in at the public library,
and Crawford could hardly tear himself away.
When they reached the street again and started back toward
Broadway, Chick happened to glance at a jeweler’s clock.
“Half past five!” he ejaculated. “By George! I had no idea it was
as late as that.”
“Late be hanged!” Crawford answered, with a laugh. “The game
is young yet. Let’s have a look in at one of those continuous
performances I’ve heard so much about—that is, unless you have to
get back.”
 The detective had nothing pressing in view, and he was
thoroughly enjoying Crawford’s comments on what they saw. He,
therefore, expressed his willingness to do whatever his companion
wished, and conducted the latter to a combination moving-picture
and vaudeville house, where they spent a little over an hour.
It was after seven when they returned to the hotel.
“I’ll just go and see if Stone has come back,” Crawford said
anxiously. “I won’t be long.”
Chick nodded assent and seated himself in one corner of the
lobby, while the miner made for the elevator.
Nick Carter’s assistant had bought an evening paper and stuffed
it into his pocket. He now took it out and began glancing over it.
Presently, as he lowered the paper to turn the page, his eyes
chanced to look into a mirror set into the wall beside him. The mirror
was so placed that it reflected the wide entrance of the hotel, and
just at that moment Chick saw a lean, curious figure approach from
the street. He gave a slight start, and stared for a moment at the
familiar reflection, then instinctively raised the paper again so that it
hid his face.
He never forgot features, and that one brief glance had been
enough for him. As a matter of fact, however, there was little chance
of any one forgetting Doctor Stephen Follansbee after even the most
casual meeting.
“The ‘Buzzard’!” he muttered to himself, using the name he had
applied to the famous specialist. “I wonder what the dickens he’s
doing here.”
 CHAPTER XIV.
NICK’S ASSISTANT DECAMPS.

Chick knew all about Doctor Follansbee’s tendencies, and had

assisted his chief in an attempt to scrape up sufficient evidence
against the man to warrant some definite action.
They had failed to build up a case that would amount to anything
if brought to trial. To be sure, they could have brought charges
against the head of St. Swithin’s, and placed him before the medical
association, but there was more than one reason for refraining from
that. For one thing, Carter hesitated to stir up a scandal which would
be bound to follow the publication of such charges. Owing to
Follansbee’s great prominence, and the very responsible character of
his position as head of a big hospital, the accusation would tend to
discredit the whole profession more or less, and to shake the public’s
faith in such institutions.
Finally, the detective had always been a firm believer in the right
of a man to have a second chance, especially when he had much to
lose. Follansbee had had his warning, and nothing had happened
since to give the detective and his assistants any particular reason
for believing that he had failed to profit by it. They were by no
means sure that he had, however, and had continued to look out for
further trouble in that direction; consequently, Chick was more than
commonly interested in this chance glimpse of Follansbee.
As for his action in hiding himself behind the newspaper, that was
merely a mechanical sort of routine precaution. There was always a
certain possibility that Follansbee might be up to something
questionable, and if he were in this instance the detective did not
wish to be recognized. That would scare the game away, and his
hunter’s instinct shrank from the possibility of such a catastrophe.
Half a minute later he had cause to congratulate himself on his
presence of mind.
He was not more than twenty feet from the clerk’s desk, which
Follansbee had approached.
“Is Mr. James Stone in?”
The question was put in the doctor’s thin, piping voice, which
hardly carried to Chick, and wrenched a little gasp of amazement
from him.
“Stone!” he thought. “That can’t be anybody but Crawford’s
partner. The Buzzard is asking for Stone. What does it mean?”
He strained his ears to catch the reply, but the clerk’s voice was
low and indistinct. A moment later, however, Follansbee remarked
audibly: “All right, I’ll wait for him here in this first sitting room for a
few minutes.”
Manipulating his paper cautiously, so that Follansbee could not
see his entire face, even in the glass, Chick glanced at the latter with
one eye. He was just in time to see the doctor move off and pass
into one of the rooms which opened off from the lobby, the one
nearest to the clerk’s desk.
Chick felt instinctively that the discovery he had made was of
considerable importance. He had come to look upon Follansbee with
suspicion, and he was aware of Stone’s attempts upon Crawford’s
life. To be sure, he also knew that Stone had been advised to consult
a specialist in New York. It might well be, of course, that the
specialist in question was Stephen Follansbee, and that the miner
had gone to him in good faith. The connection between them,
however, whatever it was, seemed to deserve a little more attention.
At any rate, he felt that he ought to inform his chief at once of the
fact that Follansbee had been inquiring for James Stone.
“I’ll have to clear out of this,” he thought, “and I mustn’t let the
Buzzard see me, either. If Crawford should come down and speak to
me, Follansbee might be put on his guard—supposing there’s
anything fishy about his call on Stone. It’s up to me to make tracks
before Crawford comes back.”
He rose to his feet, and as he did so the elevator bell gave a
subdued buzz. The man in charge closed the gate, and the elevator
shot upward. Chick felt morally certain that it was Crawford who had
rung the bell, and was waiting to descend. Another might have
laughed at him for the thought, when the big hotel was well filled
with guests, but Chick put enough faith in it to cause his heart to
give a startled bound. Without a look toward the elevator, he strode
along the lobby in the direction of the door, and hurried out. He had
barely disappeared when the car sank to the level of the ground
floor, and Winthrop Crawford emerged.
The miner looked expectantly toward the corner where he had
left Nick Carter’s assistant, and stopped short when he found it
vacant. His bewildered gaze traveled over the whole room, and then
he approached a bell boy who was standing in a near-by doorway.
“Do you happen to know what’s become of the young man I left
in that corner less than five minutes ago?” he asked, pointing to the
chair Chick had occupied.
“He’s just gone out, sir,” was the reply. “He hurried past me just
before you came down, and shot out of the door as if he had been
sent for.”
“Did any one speak to him?”
“No, sir, not that I know. Maybe he just thought of something he
had to do.”
“That’s queer!” Crawford muttered. “I don’t understand it.”
Then he suddenly made up his mind. “See if you can catch him,”
he said to the boy. “Hurry! There’s a dollar in it if you do.”
The bell boy broke into a run, and Crawford hastily followed.
When he reached the street he saw the uniformed boy in full flight
after a slender, well-dressed man who was walking swiftly down the
street to the left. It looked like Chick, but in order to make no
mistake, Crawford halted where he was and looked to the right, then
crossed the street. He saw no one else whose appearance tempted
him to follow; consequently, he strode in the wake of the boy. The
latter soon caught up with his man and spoke to him. Crawford saw
the pedestrian halt and turn about.
“Confound it!” the miner ejaculated under his breath, when he
caught sight of the man’s face. “That isn’t my man. That fool boy
has gone off on a wild-goose chase!”
He remained where he was and waited for the return of the bell
boy, who came back sheepishly.
“It was the wrong man, sir,” the boy explained.
“So I saw,” was the answer. “Well, here’s something for your
trouble, anyway. I can’t imagine how my friend got away so quickly.”
“Thank you, sir!” said the boy, as he possessed himself of a coin.
“Maybe he caught a car.”
“That’s probably what he did,” agreed Crawford.
The boy left him and walked swiftly back to the hotel, but the
miner followed much more slowly. He had been very favorably
impressed by Chick and could not account for his sudden
disappearance.
“Did I bore him as much as that?” he wondered. “He might at
least have left some excuse, I should think, even if I had taken up
too much of his time. If he had stayed he could have advised me
about Jimmy.”
He had failed to find Stone in his room, and the place seemed to
indicate that his partner had not been there since morning. Yet,
despite his anxiety, he was very reluctant to do anything, since he
knew that if Stone were all right, he would greatly resent anything
which looked like meddling with his affairs. When Crawford returned
to the lobby of the Windermere, however, he found that his brief
absence had brought developments.
These developments were to have considerable bearing on his
affairs, although he was not to know of that for the present. While
he was out of the building, Stone had returned, and had met Doctor
Follansbee.
 When Crawford reappeared, the clerk beckoned to him.
“Mr. Stone has just come in, Mr. Crawford, and has gone to his
room with a friend,” he was informed.
 CHAPTER XV.
A BAD COMBINATION.

A look of great relief passed over Crawford’s face as he thanked

the clerk.
“Friend, eh?” he said to himself. “I didn’t think he had a single
one in these parts, except myself, and I’m afraid he doesn’t think I’m
his friend now.”
The elevator was not at hand; consequently, he walked upstairs
to the second floor. Passing along the corridor, he halted in front of
number twenty-two and knocked.
“Who is that?” came the thick voice of James Stone.
“It’s only Win Crawford,” he returned, turning the knob of the
door. He found it locked, however, and his partner’s voice called out
impatiently:
“I’m busy just now, and don’t want to be disturbed.”
With a shrug of his shoulders, and a return of the old troubled
look on his face, Crawford turned away and went on to his own
room to dress for dinner.
“Don’t want to be disturbed,” the mine owner thought, half
bitterly. “There’s no mistake about it. All of his old affection for me is
dead. Heaven only knows how it’s come about, but I’m sure it isn’t
my fault!”
Presently he was standing in front of his dresser, glancing
mechanically at his bearded face in the mirror, and shaking his head.
“I’d give all I possess to find out what is the matter,” he said.
“Jimmy and I have been like brothers for years, and the way he’s
treating me now is almost more than I can bear. I sometimes wish
we’d never found the mine, and were back again footing it through
the bush together. We didn’t have any money, and we never knew
where the next meal was coming from, but—we were friends then.”
As he crossed to the wardrobe he imagined he heard his name
spoken, and came to a halt close to the connecting door. It was
evident that the barrier was a thin one.
A murmur of voices came to his ear; but it was much too
indistinct for him to make out any words. He could distinguish
Stone’s gruff tones, and also the sound of another voice—a much
sharper, higher-pitched one. But that was all.
With an effort, Crawford roused himself and turned away. “Come,
come!” he said to himself. “That isn’t fair. You’ve never been an
eavesdropper, and you’re not going to turn to that sort of thing at
your time of life.”
He went on with his dressing, and at length heard the scrape of a
key in the lock of the next door. Crossing to his own, Crawford
opened it quietly and looked out. Stone was striding down the wide
corridor, and by his side walked a thin, short, dried-up-looking
individual.
As the two figures turned at the end of the corridor to go on
down the stairs, the electric light at the landing shone for a moment
full on the face of Stone’s companion. Crawford had a glimpse of a
bony jaw, a hooked, cruel nose, and a pair of small unprepossessing
eyes.
“By George! What an ugly-looking fellow Jimmy has picked up!”
the miner exclaimed, as he quickly withdrew his head, in order not
to be seen spying on his old partner. “I wonder who the runt is, and
where Jimmy got hold of him. They seemed to have something
interesting to talk about.”
He little dreamed that the subject they had found interesting was
himself, and that the object of their conversation had been the
devising of ways and means for taking his life.
The future, however, was to reveal it all to him, and, although he
did not suspect anything at that moment there were others who did.
 The bell boy had been right.
Chick had indeed run for a passing car and boarded it after
emerging from the Windermere, and that explained his sudden
disappearance from the street.
He had been so full of his discovery, and so anxious to escape
from the hotel before Doctor Follansbee could see him and connect
him with Crawford, that he had run a certain risk in dodging through
the traffic and flinging himself on a moving trolley.
When he reached home a few minutes later, he found dinner
waiting for him, and his chief and some of the others at the table.
“Hello, Chick!” was the greeting his chief gave him. “So you’re
back at last, are you? I got your message. Have you been with
Crawford all this time?”
The young detective seated himself hastily, gave an account of
the afternoon’s program and then wound up with the startling
information that he had heard Doctor Follansbee asking for Stone. At
the mention of the specialist’s name, Carter’s lithe body stiffened,
and he darted a quick glance at Chick.
“Follansbee and Stone!” he repeated. “That combination looks
bad. I don’t like it.”
 CHAPTER XVI.
A BIRD OF ILL OMEN.

“Neither did I,” his assistant answered. “Don’t forget, though,

that that young doctor down in South America insisted that Stone
should consult a specialist upon reaching New York. It looks as if
Follansbee were the man.”
“That seems probable,” Nick agreed, “but it doesn’t help matters
very much. For all I know, Floyd may be a scamp himself, and even
if he isn’t, and has communicated with Follansbee in good faith, the
latter may try some trick. Both Crawford and Stone are the sort of
men who would be looked upon as easy marks. They’ve been out of
the country for many years, and they now possess a million dollars
between them. What’s more, they’re almost friendless here in New
York. That fact would appeal to Follansbee. He made the mistake of
aiming too high the last time—of trying to victimize a man who was
too well known. If he hasn’t turned over a new leaf—and I fear he
hasn’t—we may be pretty sure that he’ll tackle a different
proposition the next time.”
“Well, I didn’t feel easy about it,” Chick admitted. “That’s why I
hurried out without waiting for Crawford to return.”
A brief silence fell between them, although some of the others at
the table renewed in lower tones the conversation which Chick’s
entrance had interrupted. The chief was eating mechanically and
hurriedly, and the absent-minded expression on his face told Chick
that something was in prospect.
Presently the detective refused his dessert, and rose to his feet.
“What’s the number of Crawford’s room at the Windermere?” he
asked.
 “Twenty-one,” Chick answered.
Carter went out into the hall, where the nearest of the several
telephone connections in the house was located. The listening Chick
heard him shuffling over the pages of the directory, and then caught
the click as the receiver was removed from its hook.
The chief gave a number, and after a little delay asked: “Is this
the Windermere?” In another moment he went on: “I wish to
engage a room for a few days, and I’m particular about its location.
Is number twenty-two vacant?”
A slight grin parted his assistant’s lips. “It isn’t?” he heard his
chief ask. “Then how about twenty?” There was another pause, and
then: “Good! I’ll take it. Mortimer is the name—Thomas Mortimer.
Got that? Thanks!”
In a moment Carter put his head in at the dining room door. “I’d
like to see you in the study when you get through,” he said to Chick.
“Don’t hurry, though. There’s time enough.”
His assistant did justice to the meal, but wasted no time in
conversation with the rest. Fifteen minutes later he went up to the
study and found his chief seated at the desk.
“You think Crawford is in danger, then?” Chick asked, as he
entered.
Carter’s face was grave. “I fear he is,” he said. “Something tells
me that I may be called on to save our friend’s life again before long
—or try to. It’s more than possible, of course, that my suspicions are
groundless. It isn’t likely that Stone knew Follansbee was a crook
before he called on him. He may not know it now, and Follansbee
may not be planning anything out of the way. The situation is full of
sinister possibilities, however, and I feel compelled to get on the
ground without much delay. It promises to be a complicated affair. If
Follansbee is running straight, all well and good. On the other hand,
he may be planning to victimize one or the other of the partners, or
both.”
Chick nodded. “He’s quite capable of doing them both,” he
agreed.
 “There’s no doubt about that,” Carter went on. “I hope I’m
wrong, but I have come to look upon him as a bird of ill omen.
Whenever his vulturelike face appears, I’m inclined to take it as a
sign of impending trouble. If I misjudge him, I’m sorry, but I don’t
intend to be caught napping this time if I can help it.”
“And you’re really going to stay at the Windermere for the
present, chief?”
“Yes, that’s the least I can do. If Stone has joined forces with
Follansbee, Crawford will have little chance against them. It would
not be so bad if Crawford would only realize his danger, and would
consent to take proper precautions. As you know, though, he has
already experienced no less than three attacks on the part of his old
partner, and yet he still sticks by him. I can’t help admiring the man
for his loyalty, but it’s very quixotic, and I feel that I’ll have to guard
him from himself.”
“Are you going to tell Crawford that you’re coming to the hotel to
live?”
Nick shook his head decidedly.
“By no means,” he returned. “Crawford is much too simple-
minded a man for that, and is more than likely to give me away. I
shall disguise myself to-night before I go there, and you’ll have to
hold the fort here while I’m away. Of course, you can communicate
with me whenever you have to.”
Chick’s face changed its expression.
“But you’ll give me a chance to take a hand in this affair as soon
as the time is ripe, won’t you, chief?” he pleaded. “I didn’t come out
with flying colors from our previous bout with Follansbee, and I’d like
to get another crack at him.”
The chief was at the door of the study now, and he turned and
nodded to his assistant, a slight smile playing about his lips.
“All right!” he answered. “You’ll have a chance, I promise you, if
the case shapes up as I anticipate.”
 CHAPTER XVII.
NICK CARTER MISCALCULATES.

At seven o’clock on the evening of the twenty-fourth the dining

room of the Hotel Windermere presented a scene of animation. The
big hotel was fairly well filled, and most of its guests, as well as
many outsiders, seemed to be on hand.
At a table in one of the little alcoves sat a quietly dressed
gentleman in evening clothes. A close-clipped, iron-gray mustache
adorned his lips, and the hair on his temples was tinged with gray,
which contrasted with the deep tan of his hands and neck. He was
known in the hotel as Thomas Mortimer, a wealthy traveler and
sportsman.
From where he sat, Nick—as we may as well call him—could see
the table at which Crawford and Stone usually seated themselves.
He had been in the hotel constantly, and had kept a sharp watch on
Stone’s movements, but the miner’s actions had puzzled him not a
little. Several times he had met Stone stalking along the corridor or
in the lobby, his brows knitted, and his lips moving as if he were
talking to himself.
Nick had been too clever to thrust his companionship on the
man, and Stone did not even know that “Mortimer” had a room so
near to his own. It was not part of the detective’s policy to allow
Stone, or the more subtle-minded Follansbee, to have a chance to
penetrate his disguise.
So far, however, he had not been able to find out anything that
was likely to help him in his self-imposed task of guarding the life of
Winthrop Crawford. Follansbee had not reappeared at the
Windermere, and although there was every possibility that Stone
had been holding some sort of communication with the scoundrelly
physician, the detective had not been able to discover the means by
which he did so.
Crawford, on his part, had been busy. Several men had called on
him at the hotel, evidently to urge the advantage of certain
investments, and one or two had been closeted with the miner for
several hours. It was obvious that he was trying to find a safe
channel for some of his money, and probably at the same time seek
an outlet for his own energies. He was not a man who would be
likely to settle down and be content to do nothing.
James Stone, however, seemed to be of a different type, or else
his insane suspicions of his former partner kept him in a state of
mind which prevented him from seeking new business
responsibilities.
Nick noted that Stone was the first to take his seat at the table.
Crawford did not put in an appearance until a few minutes later, and
by that time his partner had already finished the first course. The
two men exchanged a few monosyllables as the meal went on, and
as soon as he had finished, Stone rose with only the curtest of nods
to his partner.
Nick had already signed the waiter’s slip, but had been toying
with a little fruit. He rose and followed Stone, but without any sign
of hurrying. His man used the stairs, and the detective followed in
the elevator, reaching the second floor ahead of his quarry.
Nick’s room, number twenty, occupied an angle of the corridor, its
door being almost opposite the elevator, while those leading to the
rooms occupied by Stone and Crawford were just around the corner.
When the detective entered his room, he left his door slightly
ajar, and a few moments later he heard Stone’s footsteps, as the
miner passed and went on round the angle. Nick gently closed his
door and crossed his room to the window, without turning on the
lights.
The window looked out into a big courtyard of the Windermere,
and from it, by glancing sharply to his right, Nick could see the
window of Crawford’s bedroom, and also that of Stone’s, both of
which were not on a line with his, but at right angles.
Peering out through the darkness, he saw a light leap up
suddenly in Stone’s room, and presently the shadow of a man
appeared on the shade.
The moving shadowgraph was significant. The detective inferred
from Stone’s actions that he must be putting on a light overcoat.
“He seems to be going out again,” the detective commented
mentally. “And in that case, I’d better go ahead again.”
He stepped back from the window, hurriedly snapped on the
electric lights, and secured his own hat and walking stick. That done,
he left the room, locked the door behind him, and made for the
stairs. No one followed, and he concluded that something had
delayed Stone.
The detective slowed down and leisurely entered the lobby. He
seated himself there after buying a paper at the news stand; but ten
minutes passed without any sign of James Stone.
“What is keeping him?” he wondered. “Can it be that he sneaked
out through one of the other entrances?”
The thought was a disagreeable one, and Nick decided to put it
to the test at once, without further delay. He climbed the stairs once
more, hurriedly entered his own room, and crossed to the window.
A glance to the right told him that his suspicion was well
founded. There was no light in Stone’s room now, and it was obvious
that the tall miner had left.
 CHAPTER XVIII.
ON THE FIRE ESCAPE.

An exclamation of annoyance broke from Nick Carter’s lips.

“I didn’t give him credit for so much cunning,” he thought. “But
hanged if I see why he should have felt it necessary to skulk away in
that fashion. It can’t be possible that he suspects me, and I don’t
know of any reason why Crawford should not know of his going out.”
He concluded on the whole that it was probably an evidence of
the instinctive slyness of the mentally affected, and nothing more.
Further, he concluded that Stone had probably turned along the
corridor in the other direction, used the servants’ stairs, and left by
one of the side exits. Of course, it was possible that his demented
brain had urged him on to the use of the fire escape. The more he
thought about it, the more he became convinced that the latter
supposition was nearer the truth. It would be just like a man in
Stone’s condition to resort to such a ruse.
The miner’s disappearance had been a great disappointment to
the detective. When he had discovered from the shadows on the
drawn shade that Stone was going out, his hopes had risen. He had
counted on following the man and getting some line on his
movements, but now that was out of the question.
He knew that it was useless to follow Stone after that delay, but
as a result of a few seconds’ deliberation, he decided not to let the
chance slip altogether. Donning his lightweight overcoat, and
buttoning it up to his chin in order to conceal the conspicuous
expanse of white shirt front—which might draw undesired attention
—he softly raised the sash of his window and stepped out on the
wide sill. The fire escape did not lead down directly past his room,
but one end of the iron platform came within two or three feet of
the window on the right side.
It was the simplest matter in the world for Nick to grasp the rail
and to hoist himself over.
The windows of the hotel were supplied with a novel patent
catch which automatically fastened both the upper and lower sashes
when the latter was pulled down. Nick, therefore, took pains to leave
his window open after passing through it.
It was this peculiarity of the windows which had brought him out
on the fire escape. He knew that if Stone had his wits about him,
and had departed by that route, he must have left his window open
or fixed it in some way to prevent his being locked out. It was to find
if such precautions had been taken that he had made the effort.
When he approached Stone’s window, the lower sash seemed to
be closed, but a closer inspection revealed that a narrow wedge of
wood had been inserted, leaving a half-inch crack at the bottom—
just enough to permit a man’s fingers to get a purchase on the sash
and raise it.
It was only a trivial thing, but it gave Nick a clew to what was
going to happen.
“He didn’t want the window to be locked by accident,” he mused,
“and so he placed the wedge there. That means he’s going to come
back this way, and it seems to me also that he wishes his partner to
think he has been in all the evening—probably that he has gone to
bed. It looks as if things were coming to a head.”
There was a cluster of small lights on a pole in the middle of the
big courtyard, and the shades of many of the windows opening on it
were up. It was light enough, therefore, for the detective to see with
reasonable clearness—and to be seen, if any one happened to look
in his direction.
He leaned over the rail and peered down. He was only at the
level of the second floor, but the pavement of the courtyard was
flush with the basement; therefore, two floors beneath him. He
looked to see if the lowest ladder of the fire escape was in place but
saw that it was not.
“Stone probably dropped from the last platform,” he concluded.
“It wouldn’t have been anything for a man of his active habits. I
wonder how he expects to get back, though. By George! There’s a
painter’s ladder lying on the pavement on the other side of the
court. Such things never ought to be left around. The sight of that
ladder would tickle a thief to death. Stone probably saw it and made
his plans accordingly.
“He expects to use it to reach the lower platform, but I’m curious
to know what else is in his mind. According to Crawford he’s sane
enough in all respects but one—and he wasn’t born yesterday. He
must know that he can’t leave the ladder set up against the landing
when he comes back to his room. If he does, there will surely be an
investigation in the morning, if not before. Does he merely think that
there will be a little burglar scare which won’t affect him, or is there
something deeper in all this?
“Has he gone off half-cocked, or—— Great Ned! I wonder if that
can be it. If he were going to bring some one back with him—some
one who would be leaving by the same route later on who could put
the ladder back where it was originally—that would effectually
remove the difficulty. If Stone is as shrewd as I give him credit for
being, I’ll wager that’s what’s in the wind. And I can give a guess at
his prospective visitor’s identity.”
He referred, of course, to Doctor Follansbee; and the possibility
that the latter was expected later on that night was enough to stir
his pulses. It suggested that the period of inactivity was about to
come to an end, and that the test of his unsolicited guardianship of
Winthrop Crawford was at hand.
Stone had gone, and it was unnecessary, as well as useless, to
attempt to follow him. All that remained was to await his return as
patiently as possible, and in the meantime to keep an eye—or at
least, an ear—out for Crawford.
 The latter proved an easy matter, for about an hour later he
heard the door of Crawford’s room open and close, and from his
window saw the light flash up in his new friend’s.
A glance at his watch told him that it was now almost ten o’clock.
He knew that Crawford was a man who rose early, and there was
every probability that the miner was about to turn in for the night.
Nick’s own room had remained in darkness. He now drew a chair
close to his window and took up his vigil, his arms resting on the sill.
Fifteen or twenty minutes later the light vanished in Crawford’s
room. In order to make sure, the detective hurriedly rose, slipped to
his own door, and opened it slightly. His friend did not appear in the
corridor, which was sufficient proof that he was going to bed.
Nick reclosed his door and locked it. “You are settled for the
night,” he thought; “and now for Stone.”
He was possessed of the infinite patience that means so much to
a detective, and is so essential to the success of any one who takes
up that profession. The rumble of traffic gradually died down, and
light after light went out in the hotel. At last, in the distance the
clock in the Metropolitan tower struck twelve. Yet the bunch light still
glowed in the courtyard below, and many windows were rectangles
of light, bright or subdued, as the case might be, for New York is
very slow to go to bed.
The detective’s lower sash was raised about six or eight inches,
and that fact at length enabled him to hear a slight sound in the
courtyard, even before his watchful eyes had warned him of the
approach. He did not make the mistake of leaning out of the
window. Indeed, it would not have been easy to do so, in view of
the narrow space he had left.
In any case, it was unnecessary. The painter’s ladder was well
within his range of vision, and a few moments later he had the
satisfaction of seeing two figures steal into view and grasp it. They
had come from the open end of the courtyard, which was on Nick’s
side, and out of his sight.
 They picked up the ladder and started to sidle across the court in
the direction of the fire escape. There was more than a hint of
sinister purpose in their furtive movements, and an instant later first
one and then the other raised his head and scanned the tiers of
windows above, as if to make sure that they were not observed.
As they did so, the lights of the cluster fell on their faces for a
fleeting instant, and the muscles of Nick’s jaws tightened. He had
barely glanced at the taller figure. It was the shorter, slightly
stooped one which interested him most, and he had seen all that
was necessary.
The second man wore the repellent mask of Stephen Follansbee.
 CHAPTER XIX.
A FIENDISH PLOT.

The two skulkers soon disappeared, having drawn too close to

the nearer wall for Nick Carter to see them. He put his ear close to
the opening, however, and listened.
He was enabled to hear the ladder placed against the fire escape,
faint though the sound was, and to check off the men’s movements
as they climbed upward. When they approached the second floor, he
quietly slipped out of his chair and retreated into the shadows in the
middle of the room. He did not care to be seen at the window, even
though his identity was so well cloaked.
Apparently no word was exchanged on the part of the two
climbers. They were running a considerable risk, and they doubtless
knew it. There was quite enough light for them to be seen if any one
should look out of one of the many windows which opened on the
court. Fortunately for them, however, they did not have far to go,
and were not obliged to pass a single bedroom.
They made their way upward with a great deal of care, but Nick
could plainly hear the faint scrape of their shoes on the metal steps.
It was obvious that they had already settled all the details.
“They have everything cut and dried,” the detective told himself,
his keen eyes glinting in the shadows, “and men of their type do not
go to such deliberate pains for nothing.”
After that the sounds told the detective that the first man,
probably Stone himself, had reached the landing just to the right of
his window, and almost immediately afterward he caught the faint
noise made as the sash was raised.
 There was a little more rustling and scraping, then silence. The
detective concluded that it was safe enough to return to his point of
vantage outside. Just as he did so, he saw the lower sash of Stone’s
window being pulled down.
“I hope they leave that wedge in place,” he murmured.
The light flashed up, and the shade was drawn down—by Doctor
Follansbee, as the shadow showed.
There was no way of telling, however, whether the wedge had
been removed or not. Follansbee had doubtless been the last to pass
through, and probably did not know of its existence; and then it
might have been dislodged by the passage of one or the other of
them.
It was time for the watcher to become the man of action, and
the transformation entailed considerable risk, as the detective knew.
He did not mean to remain in idleness where he was; but, on the
contrary, had determined to repeat his maneuver of some time
before. In other words, he meant to crawl out on the fire escape
once more and take a position outside of the miner’s window, in the
hope that he could hear enough of the conversation between the
two to enable him to get a clew to their intentions, if not with regard
to Winthrop Crawford.
The sounds they had made with all their care had brought his
danger home to him, and he realized that the necessity for climbing
over the iron railing made it likely that he would cause even more
noise. The attempt must be made, though, come what might, and
Nick had already made preparations for it. He had anticipated the
necessity, and had previously transferred a little instrument from one
of his suit cases to his pocket.
It was a sort of disc made of hard rubber for the most part, and
about an inch in thickness. Its use was obscure at first glance, but
would have been sufficiently plain upon examination. It was a sort of
ear trumpet designed for the deaf, but without the old-fashioned
horn attachment.
 He buttoned his coat once more about him, then proceeded to
raise his window the required distance; but at the risk of missing
something important, he took his time about it, with the result that
the slight sound could not have been heard even a few feet away.
When there was room enough for him to crawl through, he did so,
and, leaning over, grasped the end of the platform. He stepped
noiselessly across the gap, threw one leg over the railing and gently
lowered himself to the grating. Along this he tiptoed, his thin-soled
shoes making practically no sound as he advanced. In a few
moments he was kneeling in front of Stone’s window with the rubber
disc held to his right ear, and his ear lowered to the crack at the
bottom of the sash.
The wooden wedge was still in place, luckily for him,
consequently the sash had remained slightly raised. As soon as the
device was brought into use, it amplified the sounds it caught, and
what had been an indistinct murmur of voices became an easily
audible conversation.
“Be very careful of this,” were the first definite words he heard.
They were in Doctor Follansbee’s voice. “I will leave it in the case
here for you,” the high, thin tones went on. “Don’t press the plunger
until you have inserted the needle underneath the skin. Is that
clear?”
“Yes.”
The detective hardly recognized Stone’s voice, so hoarse and
agitated did it sound.
“The drug and sponge will be easy for you to handle,” Follansbee
explained. “Wait until you get into the room and are six feet or so
from the bed, then just sprinkle a few drops on the sponge from this
vial.”
“Won’t he smell the stuff and wake up?”
“Certainly not, unless you make a noise. The drug has a
penetrating odor, of course, for the time being, but his sleeping
sense won’t convey a message of warning soon enough to spoil your
plans. If the odor reaches his nostrils before you’re ready to act, and
he’s really asleep, it will probably only cause a momentary dream of
some sort; an attempt of the subconscious self to explain the
situation.”
“All right, but—but won’t they be able to tell that he’s been
drugged?”
Nick heard a thin, piping laugh. “You must think me a fool,”
Follansbee’s voice returned. “The keenest scent would be incapable
of detecting any odor in the room five minutes after that drug is
used, and it leaves little or no after effects. Crawford will wake up
to-morrow morning without the slightest suspicion that anything has
happened to him, and he’ll feel perfectly normal.”
“And what about the—the other?”
“It will not begin to show itself until Monday or Tuesday,” was the
confident answer. “And even then the symptoms will be inconclusive.
There aren’t half a dozen physicians who would know what they
meant in any of the early stages, and by the time any one could
authoritatively diagnose the case, the patient would be beyond help.
In fact, he’ll be beyond it for all ordinary purposes from the time the
serum is introduced into his system, and before the twenty-seventh
he’ll be dead.”
 CHAPTER XX.
QUICK WORK IS NECESSARY.

“Dead!”
The way in which Stone repeated the word gave a hint to the
listener of the grim hatred that possessed that demented brain.
There was a moment’s silence, then Follansbee’s voice came
again. “Above all, however,” he said, “remember that you must not
be in a hurry. Do everything deliberately and don’t get rattled for a
moment. There’s nothing to fear if you keep your nerve. Finally,
don’t attempt to carry out your—operations shall we call it?—until
half past two.”
“Why should we wait? Why couldn’t we do it now?” Stone urged.
“If you were a medical man you would know why,” Follansbee
answered in his squeaking voice. “Between two and three o’clock in
the morning human life is at its lowest ebb. The flame of vitality
burns more dimly then than at any time during the twenty-four
hours. That’s the answer, and its application to this case ought to be
apparent enough.”
Nick heard a movement, as though Doctor Follansbee had leaned
forward in his chair to drive his point home.
“You have waited months for this, Stone,” the peculiar voice went
on, “and an hour more or less can’t make any difference. Crawford
will be in a sound sleep at half past two, if he’s as normal as he
seems to be, and the low vitality which is natural at that hour will
make him an easy subject to handle; in other words, you will have
the best chance of successfully drugging him.”
The chair creaked again.
 “You’re going now?” asked the miner.
“Yes. It’s much better that I should. My continued presence
would tempt us to talk, and we might disturb the man in the next
room. You don’t want to do that, you know. You want to find him as
helpless as possible when the time comes, so I’d advise you to keep
as still as you can. Don’t pace the room, or anything like that.”
“But I’m nervous as a cat,” objected Stone. “Who wouldn’t be?”
“I suppose you are,” Follansbee admitted, “but—here’s something
to quiet you. It will give you new courage, too. Just deposit this
powder on the end of your tongue and wash it down with a little
water.”
There was a pause, and the detective suspected that the miner
was staring questionably at Follansbee. Stone’s next words
confirmed it.
“You’re sure about this?” the man asked slowly. “It won’t hurt me
or keep me from doing what I’ve sworn to do?”
“Certainly not,” was the shrill response. “What do you take me
for, Stone? I’m in your pay, am I not? I must earn that forty-five
thousand, if I expect to enjoy it. Why should I try any tricks on
you?”
“That’s all right—why should you?” Stone said more quietly. “I’ll
take it if it will fix me up in the way you say. Here goes!”
The detective outside held his breath. “Great Scott!” he thought.
“I wonder if Follansbee is putting up a job on him, too. He’d be quite
capable of it, but it doesn’t seem possible that he’s trying any such
tricks so early in the game. If he means to do anything of that sort, I
should think he would wait until Stone had killed his partner, or had
attempted to do so. To Follansbee’s certain knowledge, that would
give the latter a hold on Stone which Follansbee could use to
advantage before going any further. I may be mistaken about that,
of course. Follansbee does strange things, and may have something
up his sleeve which I don’t understand. There’s a chance that Stone
is in grave danger at this moment. I doubt it, though, and I’m afraid
I can’t help him if he is.”
 Nick’s main concern was to protect Winthrop Crawford if possible.
He pitied Stone much more than he blamed him, because he knew
that the man was not responsible for his actions, but Crawford’s life
was more important than Stone’s, and a premature interference
might spoil the case that was developing against Doctor Follansbee.
“That will steady you,” he heard the specialist inform Stone. “I’m
off now, and remember that I shall be waiting for you in front of the
bank around the corner. I’ll have a car there in readiness at two-
thirty. I trust you told the hotel people that you would probably be
away to-night?”
“Yes, I arranged that. I didn’t see why it was necessary, but——”
Had the detective been able to look into the room, he would
have found that Follansbee was facing his man, but that Stone was
not quick enough to notice the cold flicker that came into the hard
eyes. The detective would have perceived it, though, had he been in
a position to do so, and would have jumped to the conclusion that
the rascally physician had a reason of his own for wanting Stone to
join him as soon as the dastardly crime had been committed.
“My reason is very obvious,” Follansbee declared in his thin,
cackling voice. “I want you to establish an alibi in case something
unexpected should happen.”
He thrust his face forward.
“You don’t want to be electrocuted, do you?” he demanded.
“That would be a poor sort of revenge on your partner.”
Nick heard the ex-miner draw a deep breath.
“Electrocuted!” came the deep, husky voice. “I don’t think I’d
care for that. They—they would send me to the chair, though,
wouldn’t they, if they found out?”
Follansbee knew better than that. He was aware that Stone
would escape any such fate owing to his mental condition, but it did
not suit his purposes to say so. “As sure as you’re alive!” he
answered callously.
As he spoke, he turned to the window and started for it.
 It was not the sound of his approaching footsteps that warned
the listener, however. Nick had already stiffened and drawn back as
soon as his ears caught the difference in Follansbee’s tones, caused
by the fact that the latter had faced about toward the window while
in the act of making his last remark.
The thin, stunted shadow of the head physician of St. Swithin’s
was already on the shade, and quick work was necessary on Nick’s
part.
 CHAPTER XXI.
IN NEED OF EVIDENCE.

Nick Carter moved with the quickness of a cat. In a twinkling he

had jerked the ear piece away and slipped it into his pocket. While
doing so, he had straightened up noiselessly and started along the
platform of the fire escape in the direction of his own window.
It was a close shave. Follansbee had started to raise the shade
before Nick even reached the railing over which he had to climb, and
while he was crawling over the barrier the sash of Stone’s window
was being lifted.
Fortunately for him, however, Follansbee tried to make as little
noise as possible, consequently his movements were slower than
they otherwise would have been. For all that, though, the detective
was not out of sight by the time Follansbee stuck his head and
shoulders through the opening.
It was a tense moment, and Nick’s heart skipped a beat or two.
Should Follansbee happen to glance that way the first thing and
catch a glimpse of his feet disappearing through the window the
consequences would be disastrous.
Despite the temptation to do so, he did not forget his caution for
a moment, or allow his extreme haste to betray him into a clumsy
move. He slipped from view almost noiselessly, and tiptoed away
from his window into the shadows of his room.
All the time he was listening intently for some evidence that
Follansbee had seen him, but none came. Seemingly the physician
continued to climb through Stone’s window, and, having done so,
proceeded on his stealthy way down the fire escape.
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