After the discovery of the crime, a careful examination was made of every window and door in the house which communicated by any possibility with the outside world.
All were found securely locked, and every door was provided with the additional security afforded by a chain.
Even the scuttle had an intricate padlock:
Nothing had been molested.
Window-fastenings, door-locks, chain-bolts, scuttle and sky-light were alike undisturbed.
From the circumstances of the case as they were discovered after the commission of the crime, it was absolutely impossible for the murderer to have gained access to the house without leaving some evidence of the fact. Again, supposing the assassin to have been already concealed therein, it was equally impossible that he could have gotten out without furnishing some clew.
Delia Dent, as has been said, had fainted when she discovered the dead body of her young mistress. Upon reviving, she had staggered to a messenger call in the hallway, having barely strength to ring for the police. Then, still half-fainting, she had managed to reach the foot of the stairs, but had not yet unchained the front door when her call was answered. She believed that she fainted twice, or that site was in a state of semi-consciousness during the interval that elapsed between the discovery of the crime and the arrival of the police.
The more thorough the investigation, the deeper grew the mystery.
Old and tried detectives were put upon the case. At first they looked wise and assured everybody of the speedy apprehension of the fiend who had committed the deed. Then they became puzzled, and finally utterly confounded. The bravest of them at last confessed that they were no nearer the truth than at the beginning, and one of them, the shrewdest of all, boldly stated that the only way in which the assassin would ever be discovered would be by his voluntary confession, which was not likely to ensue.
Thus matters drifted on until the public mind found other things to think of. The papers at first devoted pages to the event; then a few columns. In a week, one column sufficed. Finally the reports dwindled down to a single comment, and then to nothing, and the mysterious murder was practically relegated to history and forgotten.
There was one, however, who had not forgotten it, and that one was the Inspector in Chief, at Police Headquarters.
Every resource at his command had been exhausted. His best men had taken the case in hand and failed. He had personally given all the time he could spare from his other duties to the murder of Eugenie La Verde, and was yet as greatly mystified as ever. There was no palpable or reasonable solution to the problem.
Her jewels, of great value, were found untouched upon the dressing-case. A roll of bills amounting to several hundred dollars was in the top drawer, where it had evidently been carelessly thrown by the murdered girl that very night.
The murderer had doubtless approached stealthily, giving her no warning. He had seized her in his vise-like grip, choked her to death, and left her as stealthily as he had come. Her body was undefiled by bruises, contusions, or other marks, showing that he had given his attention solely to the work of killing. It was even evident that he had not sought to put a stop to her struggles by the exercise of physical violence, other than that of choking his Victim.
The marks upon her throat were peculiar and very striking.
Some of the detectives thought that the assassin had used both hands simultaneously; others believed that he had made use of a rope, holding one end in either hand and winding it twice around her neck.
There was one fact which seemed to upset every theory that was advanced. The door between the room and the hall-way was closed, although not locked.
The bed on which Eugenie was murdered was so situated that it would have been absolutely impossible for anyone to enter the room without being seen by her. The gas was brilliantly lighted, and was so found in the morning after the crime. Delia Dent had never known her mistress to fall asleep while reading, or to neglect to extinguish the gas when ready to compose herself for the night.
Was there a third person in the house, whose presence was known to her alone?
Preposterous! Delia could not have failed to be aware of such a fact, and the person could not have left the house without being discovered, or leaving traces of his manner of exit.
Nothing had. ever been whispered against the character of Eugenie La Verde, and the coroner’s inquest proved that she had been worthy of her reputation for modesty and purity.
The crime was a month old when, one evening shortly after dark, Inspector Byrnes went quietly up the steps of Nick Carter’s residence.
Everybody believed that the chief had given the matter up, and he was perfectly willing that the public should have that opinion.
In the meantime, he had decided that there was one man in New York who might be able to solve the mystery.
Hence, his quiet call upon Nick Carter.
Chapter II.
The Interview
Nick Carter was at home when the inspector called, and he received him as he would have received no other man in the whole city of New York; in his own proper person. One of the cardinal points of Nick’s faith in himself was that by keeping himself entirely unknown to everybody his various disguises were rendered absolutely impenetrable.
“I am glad to see you, inspector,” was his greeting to the chief. “Sit down, help yourself to a cigar and we will talk it all over, for I suppose you are here on business.”
“You are right, Nick.”
“You never come unless there is something of importance on hand. What is it to-night?”
“The Eugenie La Verde affair.”
“Why, I thought that was given up.”
“So it is-by everybody except myself.”
“Ah! By the way, I see that-”
“That Delia Dent is dead? Yes.”
“Do you take any stock in her knowing aught of the murder, inspector?”
“None whatever. She was as innocent as you, or I.”
“My opinion, although of course I know nothing about the case.”
“Have you a theory, Nick?”
“No. I avoid theories as I do the typhus or the small-pox. They are dangerous and very catching.”
“Exactly. Still one thinks.”
“Yes-unfortunately.”
“Nick, I want you to take this matter in hand and sift it to the bottom.”
“Easier said than done, inspector.”
“I believe that you can do it.”
“It is a very blind case.”
“Everybody else has failed. Will you try it, Nick? There is a murderer somewhere, and he must be found if it takes years to do it. Will you try it?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. I feared that you would refuse, and yet–—”
“I may want a favor sometime, eh?”
“Precisely.”
“When am I to begin, and what are your instructions?”
“Begin when you choose, and follow your own bent independently of everybody. I have only one order to give.”
“What is