Blood Will Tell; Or Nick Carter's Play In Politics, Pt 3

 In this episode of "Forward Into the Past," JC Rede continues the thrilling mystery story "Blood Will Tell; Or Nick Carter's Play In Politics." Nick Carter, Chick, and Patsy Garvin are analyzing the bloodstained articles found at the crime scene. Nick determines that the blood on the articles does not belong to the murdered woman, Matilda Lancey, but to another woman, possibly Cora Cavendish. Nick suspects that Cora and her confederates are responsible for the crime and are trying to frame Arthur Gordon. Meanwhile, Patsy is tasked with finding Cora Cavendish and gathering more information about her involvement in the crime. 

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Transcript

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Hi friends and welcome to another episode of forward into the past. I'm JC Rede, your host and narrator. And today we're picking up where we left off last time in the thrilling mystery story. Blood will tell or Nick Carter's play in politics. If you're a regular listener of the show, or maybe you're a fan of dime novels and pulp fiction, then you might be familiar with Street and Smith, one of the most prolific publishers of inexpensive paperbacks and magazines in the late 19th and early 20th century. They also published comic books and sporting yearbooks covering a wide range of genres and topics. But who were their competitors in the story paper publishing business? Well, Here are some of the rival publishers that challenged Street and Smith for dominance in the market. Beadle and Adams. This was the first and most successful publisher of dime novels starting in 1860 with the launch of Beadle's dime novels. They specialized in frontier and adventure stories featuring popular characters like Buffalo Bill, Deadwood Dick and Roving Joe. They also published story papers like Beadle's Weekly and Saturday Journal. By the 1890s, they had sold over 300 million copies of their dime novels. Frank Tousey. He was a publisher of cheap juvenile literature, mostly in the form of weekly story papers. He started in 1868 with The Boys of New York, which featured stories of urban life and crime. He later expanded to other titles, like Young Men of America, Happy Days, and Pluck Luck. He also published dime novels under various series names, like 10 Cent Handbooks, Wide Awake Library and Fame and Fortune weekly. Munro's Publishing House. Founded by George Munro in 1875 this was another major publisher of dime novels and story papers. They published under various imprints, like Seaside Library, Fireside Library, Golden hours, and Boys of New York library. They also introduced some innovations in the format, such as the half dime novel, which sold for 5 cents obviously. And the nickel library, which had larger pages and more illustrations. Norman L Munro. He was the brother of George Munro and he started his own publishing house in 1882. He published story papers like Golden Argosy, Young People's weekly and Golden days. He also published dime novels, under series names like Brave and Bold, Old Cap Collier library and Diamond Dick library. He was known for his aggressive marketing tactics, such as offering prizes and premiums to readers. Arthur Westbrook Company. This was a Cleveland based publisher of dime novels and story papers founded by Arthur Westbrook in 1909. They published under imprints like Popular Library, Medal Library, Dreadnought Boys series and Cowboy Stories. They also reprinted some of the earlier dime novels from Beadle and Adams and Street Smith. These are just some of the competitors that Street and Smith faced in the story paper publishing business. They all contributed to the popularity and diversity of cheap fiction in America, catering to the tastes and interests of millions of readers. But now let's refocus on Street and Smith's biggest star, the incomparable Nick Carter in his 1915 mystery, Blood Will Tell or Nick Carter's Play in Politics. Chapter five. Nick Carter's analysis. Yes, it is human blood. There is no question about it. It is human blood, but not from the veins of Matilda Lancey. These declarations came from Nick Carter, about three o'clock that afternoon. They were addressed to Chick, and his junior assistant Patsy Garvin. All three detectives then were seated at a broad zinc covered table in Nick's finely equipped laboratory, a large rear room in his Madison Avenue residence. Lying on the table were the bloodstained articles belonging to Arthur Gordon, the disjointed Jimmy, and also the handkerchief, which Nick had dipped in the blood of the murdered woman. Nearby stood a costly microscope, a stand of small test tubes, several vials, containing chemicals together with numerous other articles, which Nick had been using. He replaced on the table one section of the Jimmy while speaking and Patsy took it up to gaze at the dark red stains on it, remarking with some surprise. Human blood chief, but not from the veins of the murdered woman. Gee whiz, that's mighty significant. Are you sure of it? Absolutely sure. Said Nick. You now have tested the blood on each of these articles, Chick inquired. Yes. And the results are convincing? Decidedly convincing, said Nick with a look of satisfaction on his strong, clean cut face. There is no question as to the reliability of a microscopic examination of particles of blood, if made by a person, thoroughly informed on the subject. I have, as, you know, made an exhaustive study of it. I am aware of that, Nick, of course. The blood of no two creatures is precisely alike. Nick continued. Under the microscope and with proper tests, that of two human beings even, presents certain distinct differences. Often by a small margin, of course, but nevertheless, clearly distinct. So I have read, Chick nodded. It is perfectly easy to tell the blood of a lower animal from that of a man. Or that of one animal from that of another as well as to determine the animal from which it comes. That is because of the blood of each crystallizes in invariable, definite forms. Gee, that's some study. Patsy remarked sentitiously. The existence of disease is also apparent under the microscope. And with proper tests, Nick went on. Science immediately recognizes one from another. Thin anemic blood presents a distinctly different appearance from the strong, rich blood of a vigorous person. That's the very point in connection with this case without further elaboration on the subject. These bloodstains tell the story, do they? Questioned Patsy. Well, they tell part of it Patsy with absolute certainty. Nick replied. The blood on my handkerchief, which we know positively came from Matilda Lancey is very rich with red corpuscles. Obviously that of a strong, healthy woman. Tilly Lancey looked it. Chick observed. The blood on these articles however, show a distinct difference, said Nick. There is a decided lack of the red corpuscles. It is thin and anemic. It is human blood, nevertheless, and it came from a woman. The proportion of red corpuscles in the stains of each of these articles, with the exception of my handkerchief, plainly shows that same anemic condition. In other words, then the stains on the Jimmy and on Gordon's garments are not caused by the blood of Tilly Lancey. Said Chick. They are not, Nick replied. I am absolutely sure of that. It is distinctly different from the blood on my handkerchief. That on these other articles came from a rather frail and delicate woman, very probably with a tendency to consumption. Gee whiz that suggests something to me, chief, said Patsy drawing near to the table. And what is that? I have frequently seen Tilly Lancey with the woman referred to by Phelan as her running mate. The woman named Cora Cavendish. She is just that type chief, slender and noticeably pale barring the Rouge with which she hides it. That is suggestive. Indeed. Patsy, Nick agreed, but I already suspected that Cora Cavendish had a hand in this job. Why so chief? Because I now am sure that it was a frame-up and because the intimacy between Cora Cavendish and Tilly Lancey now knowing that the blood on these articles came from a second woman probably made the job possible. I see. In other words. Nick added. I suspect that Cora Cavendish and one or more confederates are responsible for the whole business. I'm doubly sure of it in fact that if she is that anemic type of woman. By Jove, I think you may be right. Said Chick more earnestly, but there are a good many points that I cannot fathom. To begin with inquired, Nick. We must assume that Gordon has told the truth of course, and that he left Tilly Lancey alive just before midnight. Certainly. And that he immediately hastened home. I have no doubt of it. How then came the blood on his garments. Bear in mind Chick that it is not Tilly Lancey's blood said Nick. It is some that was obtained for this job. The crooks knew that human blood would be required as tests would surely be made after the crime. But they overlooked the fact or were ignorant of it, that test would reveal the difference between it and that of their victim. You now think I infer that the blood was drawn from the veins of Cora Cavendish. I do. Nick nodded. Only a small quantity would have been required. It could have easily been attained by an incision in one of the veins of her arms. And received in a small vial. But when and how could it have been spattered upon Gordon's garments to say nothing of the smooches in his overcoat pocket? Easily, said, Nick. Tell me. Assume for instance, that several persons comprise the gang. They laid their plans, paved the way to execute them and provided themselves with the blood required. Well? Tilly Lancey may have been duped into admitting one of them to her flat last night, possibly more. And they may have been concealed there during her interview with Gordon. That could have been craftly accomplished by Cora Cavendish. If she was out to deceive and murder her intimate friend. I admit that much, Nick, of course. Chick allowed. Tilly Lancey could have been killed then, and probably was, immediately after Gordon left the house. Nick continued. She was struck down with a Jimmy, which was afterward used to pry open her desk and later carried away by her assailants. But you say the blood on this Jimmy is not Tilly Lancey's blood. True. Nick nodded. This is not the Jimmy used for the murder. Mind you, but one precisely like it. Ah, I see. The crooks were working along fine lines. Nick pointed out. They wanted a weapon found that would correspond with the wounds inflicted. So they got two like Jimmy's. One of which they stained with blood and concealed after a fashion in Gordon's grounds. I say after a fashion Chick, because they designedly put it where it would soon be discovered. Two like jimmies, eh? said Chick. H'm, you may be right. I think you are in fact, or the blood on this one would be that of the murdered woman. Surely that is the very point. But who stained this one and put it where it was found. Another of the crooks, one who was waiting outside of the house while Gordon was there, said Nick, He was the one who had the vial of blood. Also the duplicate Jimmy. The vial may have been provided with a stopper like those in the bottles used by a barber. From which a few drops can easily be shaken. I see the point. Gordon mind you, did not put on his overcoat until after he had walked about a block. Nick continued. It would have been child's play for the crook to have followed him and while passing him to have stealthily dashed a few drops of the blood on his garments. That's right chief for fair cried Patsy. There would've been nothing to it. Gordon was a bit upset, moreover, and he did not afterward notice the spots on the black cloth, which would have quickly absorbed it All that is plain enough. Chick admitted. But how about the overcoat pocket? How was the blood put into that? It would have been equally easy. By what means? Very much the same, said Nick. The crook could've continued to follow him, taking the same seat with him in the subway train. He could have stealthily soiled his own hand with a few drops of the blood and then slipped it for a moment into Gordon's overcoat pocket. Any sly fellow might do that. Very true. Chick nodded. There is no denying it. He then must've followed Gordon home where he stained the duplicate Jimmy with blood and hid it under the shrubbery. All would have been very simple and easily accomplished. I now admit it Nick. Chick said thoughtfully. But what about the drops of blood in the front room in the hall adjoining of the flat. That was Tilly Lancey's blood. said Nick. The crooks who killed her, scattered that trail of blood, that it might indicate that it had dropped from the hand of her assassin when he left the house. That naturally would appear to have been Gordon. I agree with you. Chick again assented. You certainly have gone deep below the surface, Nick and developed a plausible theory. Plausible exclaimed, Patsy, a bit derisively, Jimminy crickets that plausible gag don't half express it Chick. It's a copper riveted cinch. There's nothing else to it. Ah, there is considerable more to it. Patsy. Nick corrected. The theory alone is not enough. It might fall flat on the ears of a jury of boneheads. It's not easy to penetrate solid ivory. That's right too. Said Patsy laughing. We must clinch it therefore, by learning positively, whether Cora Cavendish had a hand in this crime. We must discover the identity of her confederates and round them up in such a way as to fix the crime upon them. That's the proper caper chief for fair. Have you any suspicions Nick, as to their identity? Chick inquired. Aside from Cora Cavendish? Well, yes. Absolutely. On what do you base it and whom have you in mind? To begin with Chick. I base it on the probable existence of the Madison letters and the fact that they were missing this morning from Tilly Lance's desk. Bear in mind that she told Gordon about them and invited him to her flat to read them. She may have told Cora Cavendish about them also. And if double-crossed by the latter, as I suspect, she certainly had no apprehension of being murdered when she invited Gordon to her flat. Surely not. It is a safe assumption that the package of letters was in her desk last evening, as she told him. True. That is further confirmed by the fact that the desk was broken open by her assailants, who probably could not find the key. If the murder of Tilly Lancey was their only object, they would not have broken open the desk. True again. Chick nodded. There was a package of compromising letters then. And they now are in the hands of the woman's assassins, barring one very possible contingency. And what is that? That the man who wrote them, whose reputation they evidently involved was back of the whole job in order to get the letters. And to incriminate Arthur Gordon as to ensure his defeat in the coming election. He now may have the letters. Jack Madison. said Chick. Yes. It seems incredible that he. Oh, I anticipate your objection, Nick interrupted. But as I told you this morning, Chick, men with political ambitions, some men, I mean, Are capable of any degree of knavery. That's right too chief declared Patsy. Madison is a strong, aggressive bulldog type of a man. And his standing as a lawyer is far from the best. Nick added. He was abroad without his wife and family for several weeks last year. And I happened to know that Tilly Lancey then was absent from New York. They returned that pretty near the same time One must draw one's own conclusions. Be that as it may, I suspect Madison of knowing something about this affair, whether he was responsible for it or not. My money goes on that chief said, Patsy, we must get after him. I intend doing so. Have you any other suspicions? One other Chick. Namely? It is rather more than a suspicion. Nick continued with eyebrows drooping. I felt it vaguely this morning, but I then was in to great a haste to be deeply enough impressed to act upon it or rightly interpret it. When do you mean? When I returned from police headquarters and found that reporter Hawley still waiting at Tilly Lancey's door, said Nick. I feel sure now that I know why he was there and how he happened to be there so far in advance of other genuine reporters. Genuine? That's the word. You think he's not a reporter? I would stake my reputation on that. Said Nick with ominous intonation. I eyed the man more closely than when I first saw him Chick. And it was then that I vaguely felt that we had met before today. It came over me all of a sudden, a short time ago, just who he is and where we met him. A crook? The worst of crooks. Nick grimly nodded. The very man to have devised such a job as this and to have pulled it off successfully, most likely with the sanction of Jack Madison. His disguise was perfect, however, or so nearly that it blinded me for a time. I refer to the rascal who twice has committed crimes involving Arthur Gordon. And who Gee whiz, exclaimed, Patsy interrupting. I'm onto your curves, chief. You mean Mortimer Deland None other said Nick. By Jove, that alone would clench the theory you have formed, said Chick. If Deland is in this job, if you really are right. I know I am right. Nick interposed. I ought to have instantly recalled the eyes of that rascal at least. As I since have done. It is nearly a year however, since we last run him down and sent him to prison from which he was afterward brought into court on a habeas Corpus writ and contrived to escape from the two officers in charge of him. I remember. Chick nodded. We decided that he had fled to Europe. That then seemed to be his most likely course. Nick replied. It is now 10 to one however that he decided to lie low right here. And where he has since fallen in with Cora Cavendish. He may have learned from her about the Madison letters and with her framed up this rascally job. By Jove, that now seems more than probable said Chick with some enthusiasm. You are weaving a net with fine meshes, Nick for fair. No fish of Deland's size could slip through it. Not if we can get him into it, supplemented Patsy. We will set about that without more delay, Nick declared rising abruptly. You slip into a disguise Patsy and get after Cora Cavendish. Leave her to me, chief. Find out where she is and what she is doing and with what man she has been chiefly friendly of late. It's 10 to one that the man in whatever disguise you find him will be Mortimer Deland. Shall I arrest him chief, if sure of his identity? Asked Patsy eagerly, starting to prepare for his work. No, not immediately. Nick directed. We want all of his confederates and positive evidence against them. Watch him or the woman until that can be obtained. I got you chief. In the meantime Chick, we will get after Madison and find out with whom he is having covert relations. Nick added. You go to his law office Chick and see what you can learn. Leave him to me, Nick, in case he is there. I will go to his residence to make doubly sure of finding him. And we then shall have the ground pretty well covered. Nick declared as all three hastened to the library. You both may be governed by circumstances. Of course. And we will compare notes between now and midnight bearing that we accomplished something much more to the purpose. That's all. We will get a move on at once. Chapter six, a piece of plaster. It was after four o'clock when Patsy Garvin emerged into Madison Avenue to begin the work assigned him. Starting from home, somewhat an advance of Nick and Chick and heading immediately for 44th street. It's no dead open and shut cinch where to find a black bird as fly as Cora Cavendish at this hour of the day. He said to himself. She may be taking in a matinee or the movies or having a spin with some gink in a buzz car. I'll tackle her apartments in the Nordeck for a starter. And if I can learn nothing there or from the office clerk. Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. I sure have got to find her by some hook or crook. 10 minutes brought Patsy to his destination an apartment house in 44th street, patronized largely by women of the same social status as his quarry. He entered the office on the street floor, when with a thrill of satisfaction, he beheld the very woman he was seeking. Gee, this is going some, he mentally exclaimed. There she is now and rigged for the street. I'll buy a cigar, at least as a blind for butting in here. Although in disguise and quite sure that the woman did not know him by sight even, Patsy reasoned that any unusual incident might arouse her misgivings, if she really was engaged in the knavery Nick suspected. Patsy sauntered to a cigar case near the clerk's desk, therefore, and made his purchase without another glance at the woman. Cora Cavendish was emerging from the elevator when Patsy entered. She was a tall slender woman, close upon 30 with an abundance of bleached hair, thin features, a rather pretty face aside from its paleness and a certain sinister and crafty expression in her gray eyes. She was fashionably clad and was drawing on a pair of long lavender kid gloves. Passing within three feet of Patsy and wafting to his nostrils are pronounced aroma of heliotrope sachet, she paused for a moment and said to the clerk with a quick and somewhat metallic voice. If guy Morton shows up and asks for me, Mr. Hardy, tell him I'll return in 20 minutes. All right, Ms. Cavendish, nodded the clerk. I'll bear it in mind. I have a date with him. Cora added, but he may tire of waiting and come looking for me. Tire of waiting for you? Impossible! Hardy observed with a grin. Oh, quit your kidding! Retorted the woman laughing. You hand him my message Hardy and give him the key to my suite. I'll do so, Cora. Good for you. Tell him to wait, mind you. No need to tell him that Hardy returned as the woman swept out of the office. Patsy already had left the counter after lighting his cigar and he passed out only a few yards behind the woman. Now by Jove, if she doesn't take a taxi I shall have soft walking. He said to himself. Guy Morton eh? I never heard of him. When I see him, if so lucky, I may possibly know his face. Patsy's wish was granted in that Cora Cavendish did not take a conveyance. She walked briskly through 44th street to Sixth Avenue then turned north and increased her pace, gliding with a sort of sinuous grace through the throng of pedestrians. Gee she's in some hurry, thought Patsy at a discreet distance behind her. If she can go to keep a date with the said Morton and return to her apartments in 20 minutes, she can not be going very far. To some other hotel, perhaps, or some saloon with a side door for the fair sex. Patsy had hit the nail very nearly on the head. A few minutes later, he saw his quarry enter a popular cafe in one of the side streets where she paused and questioned a man seated at a high desk near the door. She evidently obtained the information she wanted for passing directly through the place, Cora entered one of the several private dining rooms in the rear, quickly closing the door. It was not done so quickly however, as to prevent Patsy who immediately stepped into the front saloon from getting a momentary glimpse of the interior of the private room. He saw that the lace draped window was partly open. That a man answering Nick's description of Hawley was seated at a Damask covered table. And that on the latter stood a bottle of wine, partly drank and two glasses. He also saw nevertheless, that there was no other occupant of the room. He's still waiting for her, he reasoned. Waiting for her with an extra glass. That's the reporter Nick described as sure as I'm a foot high and probably Deland himself. I'll mighty soon find out. Patsy turned and found the man at the desk, eyeing him suspiciously, and he took no chance of a subsequent warning being sent to the suspected couple, but immediately seized the bull by the horns. Stepping close to the desk, he displayed his detective badge and said quietly, but in a way he knew would be effective. I am in Nick Carter's employ, and I happen to know that you are the man who runs this place. If you wish to continue running it, you hand me straight goods and keep your trap closed. Whom has Cora Cavendish gone in there to meet? The change that came over the man's face convinced Patsy that he needed to say nothing more threatening. The mention of Nick Carter's name had been enough. The man at once replied moreover with lowered voice. I'll not yip. Not on your life. She has joined a man named Morton. He has been waiting for her. How long. About 20 minutes. What do you know about him? Nothing, not a thing both come here now and then to lunch or to buy wine. I have known the woman for a time, but not the man. Is either adjoining dining room vacant. Yes. Both of them. I'll go into the one on the right. said Patsy with a glance at the several closed doors. Call that waiter away so he'll not be butting in there. You mean into your room? That's what. Let him serve the couple if they ordered anything. But you make sure that he doesn't put them wise to me or to anything else or your license will go so high in the air, you could not see it with the Lick telescope. The proprietor actually turned pale, so impressive was Patsy and he muttered quickly. You leave it to me. I'll fix the waiter all right. Go ahead as soon you should please. Gee I've got him well muzzled. Thought Patsy, now seeking the adjoining dining room. He looks as if I already had put his place on the blink. He wouldn't dare say his souls, his own. Now by Jove, I must get in unheard. Patsy opened and closed the door noiselessly entering the room. It was like that occupied by Cora Cavendish and her companion. But the plastered wall between the two rooms precluded playing the eavesdropper in that direction. Turning to the window therefore, Patsy began to raise it by slow degrees until he could lean out cautiously. He then found that the other window was only four feet away. And through the opening for it had been raised several inches for ventilation he could hear the voices of the suspected couple. One object caught his eye moreover, that alone serve to confirm the theory that Nick had formed. Cora Cavendish had taken to a chair, but had drawn it away from the table. She was seated, close to the open window. She had removed her long lavender gloves and her left arm was rested on the windowsill, her fingers toying with the lace draperies. Between the filmy curtain, Patsy caught sight of her hand and arm, bare nearly to the elbow. On the fleshy part of it directly over one of the bluish veins was nearly a square inch of pink court plaster. Bye gracious that clinches it thought Patsy, the chief is right. That plaster covers the cut from which some blood was taken. Give us time now and we'll surely deliver the goods. In the meantime with ears alert, he could hear Cora Cavendish saying a bit sharply as if irritated. I cannot be in two places at once, can I? Cut out your kicking and get down to business! I came here as soon as I could, after doing the other job. Well, what's the result? Demanded her companion curtly. Did you see him? Gee, that's Deland's voice all right. Thought Patsy. He is not disguising it now and there's no mistaking it. Sure I saw him said Cora still snappishly. And what did he say? What you'll not like to hear Morty, take it from me. Use my other name, you fool. I'm not looking for a free ride up the river. None can hear us in this place, said Cora less petulantly. I'll tell you what he said, guy. He called me down in good shape, along with all the rest of us over my shoulder. He's up in the air a mile. He'll come down. Said Deland with sinister coldness. Don't be so sure of it. I'll find a way to bring him down then. He's nursing an awful kick. He'll kick against a brick wall Cora, in that case, Deland said with an icy assurance that Patsy readily remembered. I'll puncture his tire so quickly that he'll turn turtle. Well, maybe so. allowed the woman doubtfully. What more did he say? Deland continued. Did you get any part of the coin? Not a copper of it. Said Cora curtly. And why was that? He says that he won't settle. Won't settle. Patsy heard Deland's teeth meet with a sudden fierce snap. That's what he said, guy. And he as good as fired me out of the crib, replied Cora inelegantly. You'll have to see him yourself if you. See him? You bet I'll see him. Deland broke forth in tones that would have chilled an ordinary hearer. I'll see him all right. And I'll lose no time about it. What need of rushing things? Need enough. Why? Won't it keep? No, hang it, nothing keeps when that infernal sleuth takes up a case. Deland snarled, viciously. You don't yet know what has happened. Sleuth what sleuth? Cora's arm vanished like a flash from Patsy's cautious gaze when she swung around in her chair. You don't mean. You ought to guess what I mean, Cora and whom. Not. Not Nick Carter. Yes, may the devil get him and I'll help him to do so. Well, what Has occurred? Cora demanded voice quaking. Carter began an investigation this morning. Deland now informed her. I was there in disguise to learn who was put on the case and what was suspected. Phelan the headquarters' man was the first to show up and he played dead easy into our hands. He got after Gordon. He sent a gun to get him And I now know that Gordon was arrested and taken down to headquarters along with the evidence against him. Why are you so stewed then? That ought to be good enough. So it would be if it had lasted. snapped Deland. Lasted. What do you mean? I mean that Carter showed up at the house a little later and had a look at things. Deland explained. He didn't know me from a site of leather, but he refused to let me in or to put me wise to what he suspected. He flew down to headquarters instead, and Gordon was liberated. Is that so. When Carter returned, he told the reporters that there had been no arrest and that the whole business insofar as Gordon was concerned was a mistake. That looks mighty bad! Said Cora after a moment. How do you size it up? Hang the cursed dick, Cora. There's only one way to size it up. Deland again replied with a snarl. Carter got wise to something, enough to warrant his taking the chance of liberating Gordon. Well, that's evident enough. I then decided to bolt. I thought he might light on me next. That's why I'm stewed and so hot around the collar. Deland went on with bitter ferocity. But this job. The job must be wound up at once. Snapped Deland again, interrupting. We must have that promised coin before Carter could get in his work. Won't settle eh? By heaven, I'll soon see whether he'll settle. He'll settle all right. Or he'll hear something drop But. There aren't any buts to it. Deland fiercely insisted. This trick must be turned, and turned at once. Did you leave him at home? Yes, of course. I'll get after him then and bring him down to cases. You move lively too and get next to Flynn. Tell him where I have gone and that I may need help. Send Plugger out there with Daggett and Toby. Tell them to nose round till they find out what's doing Come on at once. There's no time to lose. Patsy Garvin heard the viciously determined rascal push back his chair from the table with a violence that upset one of the glasses and broke it. The tingling of the falling glass easily reached his ears. And in another moment he heard the couple hurriedly leaving the room. Gee, he's off with blood in his eye all right. Thought Patsy. He must've been talking about Jack Madison, though it's no dead sure thing. I'll follow him and find out. Plugger Flynn, eh? so he was in the job. Along with Jim Daggett and Buck Toby, three fine east side black legs. Thundering guns. I'm on the hind seat of the wagon, but I don't believe they can shake me. The last arose in his mind when, emerging from the private dining room, he discovered that Deland and Cora Cavendish already were passing into the street, in which the daylight of the October afternoon was merging into dusk. Seeing that neither of the suspects was looking back, however, Patsy darted after them and quickly reached the street. Deland was springing into a taxi cab, and in another moment he was riding rapidly away. So rapidly that pursuit was out of the question. Cora Cavendish paused briefly on the curbing to watch the swiftly departing car. And she then turned abruptly and hurried away. Hang it! I've lost him temporarily at least, do what I might. Patsy muttered. There's nothing to it now. I have only one string to my bow. I will follow the woman. Will Patsy be able to get the information to Nick Carter before it's too late? And what, if anything, does Cora Cavendish know about the job itself. These questions and others will be answered in the next exciting episode of. Blood will tell or Nick Carter's play in politics. Well things keep getting more and more interesting, don't they folks? I can't wait to get to the final episode next week and see what plays out. If you're liking the story so far, make sure to tell your friends and family all about the public domain stories that are being shared on this podcast. Remember to let them know that they can find forward into the past on any major podcast platforms like Spotify, apple music, Amazon and I heart radio. And even on smaller platforms like Goodpods and Podchaser. It can even be added to most media players by way of RSS Feed. Well, heck I've even started converting the old episodes onto YouTube as a podcast playlist. There's no excuse now, the show is everywhere. Whoops. Sorry guys. I get a little excited about promoting the show. Well, To sum up friends, let people know the show is out there again. I can't do this without you. And I appreciate all that you've done so far. Okay. As usual I've started rambling again. So until next time friends. Thanks for listening. Keep sharing the stories and be a good human. Bye for now.