The Suicide, Or Nick Carter and The Lost Head, Pt 3

In this episode, Nick Carter continues his investigation into the mysterious death of Cyrus Darling. He visits Kate Crandall, a woman who was involved with Darling and claims to have been unaware of his marriage. Carter questions her about Darling and his relationships with Ralph Sheldon and Philip Floyd. However, Crandall remains evasive and denies any knowledge of Darling's marital status. Undeterred, Carter confronts Sheldon and Floyd in their apartment, hoping to uncover the truth. The conversation quickly escalates, leading to a tense standoff and a violent altercation. The episode ends with Carter being knocked unconscious and taken away by Sheldon and Floyd.

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Transcript

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Hi, friends and welcome once again to another amazing episode of forward into the past. I'm JC Rede, your host and narrator. And today we're diving into the next chapters in the 1915, Nick Carter mystery, The Suicide, or Nick Carter and the Lost Head. The Nick Carter character was a seminal figure in the development of detective fiction in the early 20th century. Particularly in the realm of story papers and dime novels. Created by John R Correale and Ormond G Smith. Nick Carter made his debut in 1886 in the novella, The Old Detectives Pupil. Nick Carter was a New York City private detective who employed brilliant deductive reasoning and forensic skills to solve crimes. He differed from previous literary detectives in that he was more physical and willing to use force when necessary. Carter frequently engaged in fist fights, shootouts and daring chases and escapes. This added an element of action and excitement that appealed to the working class readers of story papers and dime novels. The Nick Carter stories were published in a weekly story paper titled the New York weekly. With each installment costing just a nickel. The Nick Carter adventures provided affordable entertainment for the masses. The affordable pricing and action packed tales made the stories hugely popular with the New York Weekly's circulation reaching into the millions during its heyday. Nick Carter's influence extended beyond just the stories themselves. He became a cultural phenomenon with his name and image used to market all sorts of products from coffee to washing powder. There were Nick Carter clubs, theatrical productions, and even early motion pictures featuring the character. Kids playing a detective would often pretend to be Nick Carter on his latest case. While Nick Carter borrowed heavily from the works of Edgar Allen Poe. He blazed his own trail in the genre. Later fictional detectives like The Shadow, Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe had elements of the hard-boiled Nick Carter in their makeup. The character was also a major influence on pulp fiction and comic book detectives and superheroes. Nick Carter's DNA can be seen in everything from Batman to Jessica Jones. In many ways the Nick Carter dime novels represented a democratization of detective fiction. They took the genre out of the hands of the literary elite and made it popular entertainment for the working classes. Nick Carter may have started out as disposable pulp but he left an enduring mark on detective fiction that still resonates today. And let's just see how it still resonates as we continue the latest episode in the 1915 story. The suicide or Nick Carter and the Lost head. Chapter five, the woman in the case. Nick Carter entered the Ashburton Chambers soon after eight o'clock that evening. He did not send up his guard to Kate Crandall. He sauntered in and bought some cigars off a girl clerk in charge of the counter. While lighting one, he inquired carelessly. Have you seen Ralph Sheldon here this evening? Yes, sir. said the girl. He came in half an hour ago. I saw him talking with the clerk. I guess he went up to a suite. To the woman's suite thought, Nick recalling what Danny had reported. Then indifferently, he said, I heard today that Mr. Sheldon is living here. Yes, sir. He has a suite with Mr. Floyd on the third floor. They've been here about two months. Phillip Floyd? Yes, sir, but I don't think he is here today. He travels a good deal of the time. The clerk can tell you. It's not material, said Nick turning away. He sauntered out and around to the side door of the house, throwing away his cigar then entered and took the elevator saying to the man in charge. Ms. Crandall's apartments. Third floor, sir. Directed the man. Number 98 to the right. Number 98. Queried Nick. I thought Ralph Sheldon had that suite. No, sir. He and Mr. Floyd have number 94 rear corridor. Nick did not reply. He stepped out onto the third floor and turned to the right. The dimly lighted corridor was deserted. It ran parallel with one side of the house and led to a stairway in a narrow passage back of some of the rear apartments, evidently a passage and stairway designed for the use of servants and the removal of sweepings and rubbish. Nick found that Kate Crandall's suite was the last in the side corridor. He paused at the door and listened, hearing nothing. And he then crouched and peered through the keyhole. He could see a thread of light under an inner door, which precluded hearing voices from within. And he then knocked sharply on one of the panels. There was no response. Nick waited a few moments then knocked again, which had the desired result. The door was opened by the woman he was seeking. She was not conventionally clad for receiving visitors. Her fine figure was enveloped in a voluminous woolen wrapper. Her feet were thrust into a pair of worsted slippers. She appeared to have been on the verge of getting ready for bed. She drew back with a look of surprise on her darkly, handsome face. Goodness. She exclaimed. I thought one of the hall boys knocked. What do you want? An interview with you. Nick tersely informed her. Don't pretend Miss Crandall that you do not recognize me. A woman never forgets the face of a person she dislikes. I did not so pretend. Kate retorted. I knew you immediately, Mr. Carter, but I cannot imagine why you want an interview with me. I will presently inform you said Nick. May I come in. Certainly. You are alone? Of course, I am nearly always alone here. I have a headache and was thinking of going to bed. Kate glibly asserted. That is why perhaps you were so long in answering my knock, Nick remarked more sharply, eyeing her. Precisely. Kate nodded. I was near not answering it at all. I am glad I did however. As for disliking you, Mr. Carter, that is absurd. I bear, you know, ill will, for the part you played in that Maybrick affair. I was not seriously involved in it. I always make it a point not to lay myself liable. To the law, you mean? To the law, certainly. She bluntly admitted. What else would I mean? I'll keep out of the grabnet of the law. Mr. Carter, you can safely bet on that. Nick wondered whether it was true or only a bluff designed to dispel his suspicions. He had followed her into an attractively furnished parlor where he instantly detected the odor of cigarette smoke. He wondered too, whether he really had found her alone or whether some male visitor possibly Ralph Sheldon had hurriedly concealed himself in one of the adjoining rooms. Have a chair. Kate added. Really Mr. Carter, I am quite pleased to see you, for all you think I dislike you. What do you want to interview me about? You have piqued my curiosity. You said you were alone here. Nick remarked instead of answering her question. So I was until you came in. Really. Of course, why should I deceive you? That's the question, said Nick. I think that you have. He had leaned nearer to her while taking a chair. So near that his head almost touched hers, for she then was seated. That I have deceived you. She asked gazing at him. Surely. How so. Some person was smoking a cigarette here within a very few minutes. Kate Crandall laughed and tossed her head. Dear me? Is that why you think so? She said derisively. Really Mr. Carter, you are not near as keen and clever as you think you are. No? Far from it. It was cute in you of course, to detect cigarette smoke so quickly. But I was the smoker. You will find the end of my cigarette in the cuspidor if you care to take a look. Here is the box. Kate took it from the pocket of her woolen robe. Have one. They seem to steady one's nerves for a time. It may sharpen you up a bit. My wits don't need the grindstone. Nick replied dryly. No? Queried Kate with her own tentative intonation. Far from it. Said Nick imitating her. You are the one who is not keen and clever. You were not the smoker, Ms. Crandall. When a woman has just smoked a cigarette. The scent of it may easily be detected in her hair. I smelled of yours when I sat down. Oh, indeed? Now having eliminated you, who was your visitor? Why did he hide when I knocked? I know of course that he did not depart or I should have seen him. Kate Crandall's mocking smile had given way to a frown, but it was not of long duration. You are very much mistaken. Mr. Carter, she replied. He left just before you arrived. If you think any person is concealed in my apartments, you are at Liberty to search them. No indeed. It is not material. I failed to see why you have an interest in me, or my visitor. Kate quickly added. Please explain. Why are you here? What have you to say? I want you to do most of the saying. Nick replied, tell me and give it to me straight. What do you know about Mr. Cyrus Darling? Kate Crandall heard him without a change of countenance. Well just now, Mr. Carter, I know nothing about him. She said pointedly. He's dead. What did you know about him when alive then? Nick demanded. Very little. So little Mr. Carter, that I'm quite ashamed of myself. Why so? Because when I discovered the truth, it was not at all to my liking. What truth? That he was a married man. Do you mean that you did not know it before he died? That is just what I mean. How long had you known him? Something like three months. Were you friends? The best of friends. I supposed in fact that we were to become something more. Kate significantly added. What do you mean? In other words, Mr. Carter, I suppose that Cyrus Darling was going to marry me and that I should roll in wealth for the rest of my life. Imagine my chagrin, dismay and disappointment. Therefore, when I learned that he had killed himself and that a wife was mourning his tragic end. Perdition. I could have cut off my two ears for having listened to his treacherous love avowals. Nick Carter now saw plainly that this woman had no intention of bolting, that she had taken a position she felt sure she could maintain, and that she was not to be easily frightened or intimidated. All this appeared in her darkly, glowing eyes, her look of covert, contempt, and defiance, and in the utter lack of anything like apprehension on her part. Nick gazed at her intently for a moment then asked bluntly. Do you expect me to believe Ms. Crandall, that you did not know Darling was married? I don't care whether you believe it, Mr. Carter or not. She deliberately answered meeting him eye to eye, while she lighted a cigarette. What is that to me? The fact is not altered by what you believe. It is a fact then. Yes positively. You are acquainted with Ralph Sheldon aren't you? I am. And Phillip Floyd. Well, yes. Are they friends of yours? I think so. Kate coolly nodded. I have no reason to doubt it. Why then did they not tell you that Darling was a married man? Nick demanded. They knew it. And they supposed that I knew it. Kate curtly explained. They had no idea that I was ignorant of it. They saw me with Darling only occasionally. And the attributed no special significance to it. No? Why should they, she added a bit sharply. Why should they meddle with my affairs? I wonder at your presuming to do so. Though I know of course that yours is a meddlesome business, and you are a prince of meddlers. What's it all about? What's the answer? What are you driving at anyway? You will learn in time. Nick informed her. If what you imply is true, then you were not used quite right by Darling. No quite the contrary. Why have you still an interest in his affairs then? In his affairs? That's what I said. Nonsense. I have no such interest. Kate declared with a stony stare. I have wiped his name off my slate. Who is your friend then who has such an interest? My friend? Yes. I don't understand you, snapped Kate. Come across plainly. Mr. Carter, if you wish me to continue this interview. I will not stand for any beating around the bush. What friend of mine do you mean? The man you talked with on the street a short time ago. Nick said bluntly. The man who told you he had seen my touring car at the Darling residence this afternoon. Kate Crandall's eyes dilated perceptibly under her knitted brows. The shot was evidently not expected. But it did not appear to disturb her seriously. She tossed away her cigarette. Nevertheless, asking a bit resentfully. What is it to you Carter anyway? Why are you putting me through the ringer in this fashion? What are you trying to dig up? I tell you right here and now that you've got nothing on me. My relations with Cyrus Darling were open and above board. He was the only one guilty of any duplicity. I was the one deceived and his wife. What are you out after anyway? You are evading my question. Nick said pointedly. What question? Who is the man with whom you talked this afternoon. Nick repeated. If you are strictly on the level, as you assert, you should be willing to tell me. Willing be hanged snapped Kate inelegantly. You make me tired Carter when you get one of these meddlesome wasps in your bonnet. Why, I am more than willing to tell you if you are really anxious to know. Tell me then. The man was Jim Dacey. A very good friend of mine. Said Kate. That's why he came to tell me that he had seen a car thought to be yours at the Darling residence. He even went and looked up the number to be sure of it. But why did he hasten to inform you? He feared that I might be involved in some way because of my relations with Darling. So he came to put me on my guard, Kate glibly explained. But there was no occasion, not the slightest occasion. Indeed. Not the slightest Kate forcibly repeated. Who is this man Dacey? And where does he hang out? Nick then inquired, not yet in a position to contradict the woman. Why was he going to the Darling residence? What is his interest there? Why did he. Stop a moment. Kate exclaimed lurching forward in her chair. What do you think I am Carter, an information bureau? I'll stand for this no longer. I don't know what you suspect nor care. And you evidently don't intend to enlighten me. It's a mighty poor rule that won't work both ways. I've told you all I'm going to tell you. If you want to learn more of Cyrus Darling, or of Jim Dacey or of Sheldon or Floyd, go and ask them. You'll get no more out of me. Nick saw that she meant it. Wait and see, he remarked rising. I can wait. Kate retorted. Go elsewhere with your questions. That is precisely what I shall do. Go ahead, then it's up to you. Go where you please. I am going to bed. Chapter six birds of a feather. Nick Carter had an object in not revealing his suspicions to Kate Crandall and attempting to force a different story from her. He had seen plainly that such an attempt would be useless that the woman felt secure in the position she had taken. And was prepared to stick to her statements. Nick believed very few of them however. He keenly realized, nevertheless, that they ordinarily would appear perfectly plausible, that a woman is always given the benefit of a doubt in such cases. And that her story would be very generally accepted unless he could find positive evidence with which to refute it. There is only one way it can be done. That's by producing the supposed suicide himself. Nick decided a bit grimly after leaving her. She was expecting my visit and had prepared herself for it. That was as plain as twice two. I scored one point on her, nevertheless, that she was not expecting and which may prove to be her undoing. She certainly was rattled for a moment when she learned that I knew of Dacey's doings. It forced her to come across with a plausible explanation. Not having anticipated that contingency however, there may be a weak spot in her arrangements with Sheldon or Floyd. I'll try to find it. I'll hunt up Sheldon before she can communicate with him and put him on his guard. I will see whether he will tell precisely the same story. Rear corridor, suite number 94, eh? ah this must be the way. Hastening through several diverging corridors, Nick had entered one leading to the rear of the house. He would not delay to hunt up Chick and Patsy being anxious to find the subject as quickly as possible. And it was less than five minutes after his parting from Kate Crandall when Nick arrived at the door of Ralph Sheldon's apartments. He listened vainly then knocked. It brought an immediate response. Come in. Nick entered the parlor of an attractively furnished suite. A table covered with books and newspapers occupied the middle of the room. Amid them stood a library lamp with a large drooping silk shade of Nile green color, which deflected the light upon and immediately around the table, leaving other parts of the room in semi obscurity, causing Nick to think at first sight that it was only dimly lighted. In the bright glow, close to the table, however, sat the solitary occupant of the room. He was lounging in a large armchair with his slippered feet in another, and his tall figure wrapped in a long house robe. He seemed to be a man of 50 of refined appearance with hair and beard, slightly shot with gray. He wore black rimmed glasses and was reading a book over which he gazed, inquiringly, when the detective entered. Sheldon himself, thought Nick recalling Nancy Nordeck's description of the man. Alone and absorbed in a book. It's odds then that I am ahead of any warning from Kate Crandall. She certainly has not been here since I left her. These conclusions flashed through Nick's mind while he bowed and said. I am looking for Mr. Floyd or Mr. Sheldon. You are one or the other, I infer. My name is Sheldon. He replied drawing up in his chair. Mr. Floyd is out just now, but he may return at any moment. What is your business? I want a little information, which I think you or Mr. Floyd can give me. Oh, certainly. Sit down Mr. er. Carter. Put in Nick. I am a detective. Not... Nick Carter. Faltered Sheldon inquiringly with a look of surprise. Yes. I see that you have heard of me. Who has not? And Sheldon smiled significantly. But I do not recall having seen you before. I am glad to meet you. He certainly spoke as if pleased, but his smile appeared forced and his cheeks were pale. When he extended his hand without rising, moreover Nick detected that it was trembling slightly and then noted that it felt abnormally cold and clammy. I am glad to find you here. He replied, taking a chair near the table. You were, I am told, a friend of the late Cyrus Darling. Yes in a way. Said, Sheldon settling back in his chair and fixedly eyeing the detective. In a way? Echoed Nick. What do you mean by that? I mean that I only met him a few times. Sheldon explained. I called once at his residence in company with Mr. Floyd, but we did not find him at home. Nick could not deny that this coincided exactly with what Nancy Nordeck had told him. I did not know him well. Sheldon added. Floyd was much better acquainted with them. What about him, Mr. Carter, that you are seeking information. I have been employed to do so. By whom? His wife. For what reason? What is the occasion? Have you no idea? Nick inquired with sharper scrutiny. I? Not the slightest. Sheldon quickly shook his head. I knew nothing about Darling's personal affairs. I know only that he shot himself and. Ah, here's Floyd now. He abruptly digressed. You are just in time, Phil. Shake hands with Mr. Nicholas Carter, the famous detective. He is after information about Cyrus Darling. You can tell him perhaps what he wants to know. Floyd had entered while Sheldon was speaking. And Nick detected an accent of relief in the latter's voice. Floyd appeared to be about 30, a compactly built man under medium height, clad in a stylish plaid suit and soft felt hat. He was very dark, his hair thick and curly his mustache long and drooping completely hiding his mouth. He wore gold rimmed glasses through which he fixed a pair of searching black eyes upon the detective, bowing indifferently and not tendering his hand. Pleased to know you, Mr. Carter. he said sitting directly opposite Nick at the table. Information about Cyrus Darling eh? He's dead. What's the big idea. What do you want to know about him? There was a sinister flippancy in this man's voice and manner that Nick did not fancy. Like Nancy Nordeck too, he somehow felt that he had seen Phillip Floyd before, but he could not even vaguely determine when or where. Nick did feel positive however that Floyd was bent upon putting up a bluff. That he was by far the more nervy man of these two and that Sheldon was much relieved by his timely arrival. All this presently impelled, Nick to venture a counter bluff, which proved more effective than he anticipated. I want to know anything about him, Mr. Floyd, that you can tell me. He replied. But what's the big idea. Floyd repeated staring steadily at Nick. Why are you seeking information about a dead man? Is there anything wrong with his record? That is what I wish to learn. Who put you on the job? His wife. Why so? Why has she gone up in the air? What does she suspect? Floyd glibly inquired. It does not much matter what she thinks. Nick slowly answered. That is neither here nor there at this stage of the game. Huh. Is that so? What I suspect is much more material. I came here to ask a few questions, Mr. Floyd, not to answer a string of inquiries from you. Please bear that in mind. Nick's voice had taken on a subtle and somewhat threatening ring. He gazed at his hearers with a sharper gleam in his impressive eyes. He saw Floyd frown quickly while Sheldon's bearded face grew quite haggard and ghastly in the greenish light cast upon it through the drooping silk shade. Bear it in mind, eh? Floyd curtly questioned. That's what I said, Nick returned. Why do you speak like that? I'm not likely to answer questions, put to me in that fashion. Oh, yes, you are. Nick retorted. Otherwise I shall take steps to compel you to answer them. Bear that in mind also. Floyd jerked his chair, nearer the table. See here, Mr. Carter, what's the meaning of this? He demanded aggressively. What do you suspect that you come here and. Nevermind. What I suspect. Nick interrupted. What I want to know, Mr. Floyd is what sort of game you and Sheldon and Kate Crandall are playing. How does Jim Dacey figure into it? What are you scheming to get from Cyrus Darling by. Get from him. Be hanged. Floyd cut in sharply. You are talking through your hat. Cyrus Darling is dead and buried. No, he isn't. Not dead. Not by a long chalk. Nick's sternly declared. He is alive very much alive as I shall presently convince you. I know that without your informing me. I know too, that you fellows are responsible for his supposed suicide. I know that you. Nick stopped short at that point. Floyd's right-hand suddenly appeared above the edge of the table. It held a revolver aimed point blank at the detectives breast. You know too much Carter for your own good. He hissed viciously between his teeth. If you move foot or finger, I'll send a bullet through your heart. Sit quiet, Sheldon and keep your mouth shut. Nick Carter did not appear at all disturbed by the sudden threatening turn of the situation. He had deliberately invited it. In fact, though it came so much more quickly than he expected. That it found him partly unprepared. Without stirring from his position he gazed across the table at Floyd's hard set face, replying sternly. Your threat is equivalent to a confession. You have decided then to fly your true colors. That is what I wanted. True colors. Be hanged. snapped Floyd. You'll never discover my true colors, Nick Carter, nor get me under your infernal heel. Keep your hands where I can see them or you'll get all that's coming to you. Nick saw that the hand gripping the weapon was as steady as the voice uttering the threat. He saw too, that the scowling rascal meant what he said. Though his confederate Sheldon had gone as white and mute as a corpse. I shall do nothing to invite a bullet. Mr. Floyd. He coolly answered though watchful to seize the slightest opportunity to reverse the situation. I value a whole skin too highly, but matters can not remain where they stand. What do you propose doing now that you have held me up? And. You'll soon see! Snapped Floyd interrupting. Then with voice raised. Hurry up Martin, get a move on. Come here. Nick cut him short in characteristic fashion. For the hundredth part of a second Floyd's eyes were diverted from him. Nick saw the opportunity and seized it. He heard hurried steps in an adjoining room. He lifted his knees as quick as a flash and upset the table. Just as a portiere behind him was cast aside and two brawny, powerful men bounded into the room. What followed was of brief duration. The table and books went crashing to the floor. Sheldon caught the lamp as it was falling. Nick reached over the toppling table and with a lightning like move snatched the revolver from Floyd's hand. At the same moment, came a blow from behind dealt with the weapon of one of the ruffians who had entered. It was impossible for the detective to avoid it. It fell squarely on the back of his head, knocking him senseless on the instant. He dropped without so much as a groan, face forward on the table. Floyd seized the ribbons again. Quick. He cried fiercely. Take him to my room. The crash must've been heard. Someone may come to investigate it. Wait here, Sheldon and explain. State that you fell against the table and upset it. This way, Martin, this way. We must get him out of the house Jim or our game will go by the board. Meantime, Nick was hurriedly being removed from the suite through a rear door. And that brings us to the end of another thrilling tale from the past, on Forward Into The Past. A big, thank you to all of you for joining us on this journey through time. Your support means the world to us. And if you enjoyed this episode, consider leaving us a review or rating on your favorite podcast platform. It helps us reach new listeners and share the magic of these timeless tales. For even more historical fun, be sure to visit our website, at forward into the past podcast dot com. 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