"No," continued Nick, "I am ready to take a short rest. The Leonard-Dashwood case is ended. The missing bank-notes are a small matter. Some common thief, a river roustabout, may have robbed the body." "I don't think so. I have no reason for my belief, so I must have an occult hunch, for I am eaten up with the idea that you are going to hear something regarding those notes before you are many months older."
The telephone rang before Nick could reply to Chick's last remark. The great detective placed the receiver at his ear.
"That you, Nick?"
"Yes, inspector."
"You're wanted in Washington. Come down to the office at once, if you can, and I'll explain."
"All right, inspector. I'll be with you inside of half an hour."
Nick was as good as his word, and, after the usual friendly greetings, the inspector began:
"Jackson Feversham, of Washington, is an old friend of mine, and naturally he first puts himself in communication with me, although he wants you. He wasn't certain that you were in the city, though he might have easily ascertained whether or not you were by wiring[110] your residence. If you were not in town, Chick, Patsy, or Ten-Ichi would have answered. But I see you are impatient. You want me to come to the point. Here it is: A murder, which is shrouded in mystery, has been committed in the national capital; the detectives there are at sea, and the call is for Nick Carter, the man of no failures."
"The Playfair case, isn't it?"
"Yes, I suppose you read the newspaper account this morning. Then you know as much about the affair as I do."
"Let me see if I can recite the facts as given in the press despatch," said Nick. "James Playfair, a retired merchant, widower, and childless, was found dead last night beyond the Mt. Vernon Ferry, at the foot of Seventh Street. He had been out for a moonlight excursion down the river, but instead of returning to his home on Maryland Avenue, nearly a mile beyond the capitol, he saw all his fellow excursionists depart and then walked down by the river shore. The body was found near one of the old, disused wharfs, now nothing but rows of unsightly piles. The only evidence of violence were finger-marks about the throat. The police theory is that he was choked to death. Motive, robbery; for everything of value—purse, pocketbook, watch, and rings, etc.—was stolen. No one was seen in his company after he left the Mt. Vernon wharf. He had no known enemies, and he had lived an upright life."
"You have stated the case correctly, Nick," said the[111] inspector. "Of course, there may be facts, clues, suspicions, which the reporters were unable to cover."
"I understand. Detectives are not in the habit of exposing their hands at the beginning of an investigation. There is a time for broad publicity as there is also a time for secrecy. What did your friend Feversham say in addition to what you have told me?"
"Nothing. He wants you, and that means that the mystery is a deep one. Playfair was Feversham's close friend. They were like brothers, and Feversham will spend a fortune, if necessary, to bring the murderer to justice. Can you start to-night?"
"Yes, and Chick and Patsy will go with me."
The next day Nick Carter and his two assistants were in Washington. Apprised of their coming, Jackson Feversham was at the B. & O. depot to meet them. Nick took to the man at once. He was past middle age, small, wiry, alert, with good humor and keen intelligence written on a thin, smoothly shaven face and sparkling from bright, black eyes. There was a striking resemblance in face, figure, and expression to the late Lawrence Barrett, the popular tragedian and man of letters.
Private quarters on E Street—the great detective was disposed to shun the publicity of the hotels—were secured, and late in the afternoon, when the conversation could be carried on with ease and freedom, Feversham told his story.
"The newspapers have given nearly all the facts that are in possession of the officers. I will now disclose to[112] you what has not been published and also give you my own ideas concerning the murder: James Playfair had an appointment with me for eleven o'clock that fatal night. We were to make the final arrangements for a fishing-trip to the Chesapeake. The excursion boat was scheduled to return at ten o'clock, for the river ride was to be a short one, having been gotten up for the benefit of some foreign visitors. I saw him off on the boat, and his last words were: 'I am going on this excursion as a matter of duty'—he was a member of the committee which had arranged the affair—'and when I return I shall hurry to your rooms.' These words, when taken in connection with my intimate knowledge of his private affairs, carry with them the conviction that he left the boat to keep an appointment."
"Then that appointment must have been made after you parted with him and before the boat left the wharf," said Nick.
"I think so, otherwise his parting words to me would have been different. He went off alone. Several persons saw him leave the............