Toying With Fate; Or Nick Carter's Narrow Shave, Pt 1

In this episode, an unknown old man, who was recently released from prison, is murdered in his sleep! Nick Carter is on the trail in a flash! What clues will he find?

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Transcript

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Hi friends. And welcome once again to another episode of forward into the past. I am JC Rede, your host and narrator. And today we're delving back into the world of Nick Carter, the dashing detective from turn of the 20th century, New York. Nick Carter, as you now may know, is one of the most iconic detectives of American literature. He's the protagonist of the popular dime novels that were published in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The character was realized by John R Correale, but it was the writer, Frederick van Rens layer day that popularized the series. Nick Carter first appeared in a story entitled. The old detectives pupil in 1886. From then on the character became a regular feature in the detective genre, appearing in hundreds of story papers and dime novels over several decades. The Nick Carter character was a departure from the typical detective characters of the time. While other detectives were portrayed as middle-aged men with a lot of experience. Nick Carter was a young and dashing detective in his twenties. He was handsome, intelligent, and highly skilled in martial arts and firearms. He was also a master of disguise often using different personas to infiltrate criminal organizations. The Nick Carter series was immensely popular during its heyday. The story paper exploits were serialized in dime novels and readers eagerly awaited. The next installment. The series spawned numerous imitations and soon other publishers were turning out their own detective series. But here at forward into the past, we have the original. Today, we begin a tale that was written way back in 1903, entitled toying with fate or Nick Carter's narrow shave. Toying with fate. Or Nick Carter's narrow shave by Nicholas Carter. Chapter one. The mysterious old man. Move on old man and go home. It was the stern voice of one of new York's finest policemen that uttered those words. Home. I wonder where that is. Muttered the old man to whom the policemen had spoken, and a shutter ran through his frame. As he slowly moved down the street. As he reached the corner near old St. John's church on Varick street. He paused, rubbed his eyes and gazed dreamily about him. For some time before the policemen had addressed him, he had been standing inside the church, looking through the railings into the church yard. His form was bent by decrepitude and sorrow. And his hair was as white as the flaky snow, that clung to the steeple of the old church. The bells of which had just sounded the knell of the dying year. The old man only halted on the corner for a minute. And then crossing beach street. He shuffled along until he reached the center of the block, where he came to a standstill in front of an old fashioned house which was unoccupied. Then as if a faintness had come over him, he grasped the rusty iron railing to prevent himself falling to the ground. And he closed his eyes as though the sight of the snow covered houses was too much for him. The policemen had followed him at a distance. And it was watching him from where he was standing on the corner. Poor devil mutter the guardian of the peace as he swung his nightstick back and forth. I wonder who he is. He seems weak. Perhaps at one time he amounted to something. God saved me from ever coming to his condition. I wonder why he stands so long in front of that old empty house, which has been closed for 20 years, to my knowledge. I'll watch them awhile, but I won't molest him. Poor devil. As the policeman concluded his soliloquy. The old man straightened up and walked up to the door of the house, the old knocker on which he caught hold of and gave it a wrap. But suddenly as if struck by some painful recollection, his hand fell to a side and he staggered back to the middle of the sidewalk. Strange. The policemen ejaculated, noting this action. Perhaps he lived there at one time. The old man looked up at the house at which he gazed long and intently. Then suddenly arousing himself. He ambled back to the corner, stopping near the policemen. He looked confusedly around him from the left to the right. And the policemen gazed at him closely, but spoke, not a word. On his part. He did not seem to see the man in uniform. He stood bewildered appearing, not to know which way to turn. Why don't you go home old, man. The policeman asked this time in a softened tone of voice. Uh, home. The old fellow ejaculated his voice, like a wail, a heartbroken sob. Home. Where is it? The Lord bless you, Matt. How can I tell you if you can't tell yourself? 20 years ago, 20 years behind darkened walls. And this. He muttered the words in such a, forlorn tone that the policemen stared at him. Your brain is turned old, gentlemen. The old man laughed and looked up into his questioners face with a quizzical expression. My. Brain is clear. My friend. He replied in a clear, harsh tone. I have come from a prison. The world is strangely altered since I was in it before. In it before. Why, what do you mean. I suppose you will try and persuade me that you have been dead and have risen from the grave. Figuratively speaking. I have, I. Have been dead to the world in prison. At sing, sing. Mark me well, Sing sing prison for 20 years. Today I was released. See me now. I am old decrepit, hardly able to walk. Once I stood erect. My hair was as black as the Raven's wing. And now. Oh, look at me. a wreck without home or friends. Wife. Children all gone. I have never seen, nor heard of them since the day I was taken out of yonder house as a prisoner by the unjust hardened, cruel decree of so called court of justice. 20 years. Uh, prisoner buried alive as it were. You had committed a crime. No. I was innocent. But powerful conspirators plotted against me. The evidence was perjured and I. I. Was entombed. You say you lived in yonder house 20 years ago. Yes. And no men carried his head higher than I did. I was rich. But. What is the use of rehearsing those things to a stranger? Hardened as you are by association with crime, you would not believe my story. You would think that I was romancing? Oh, things have sadly changed in this neighborhood. You may bet they have. Once. All these houses were occupied by rich people. But today. They all the abodes of. Of the poor and the outcast. What is your name, sir? My name. It matters not good night. Well, well, keep your secret old man. God bless you may this new year bring you happiness. Ah, happiness. I shall never know that again. Good night again. He moved off slowly and the policemen watched him until he turned the corner into west Broadway. When he proceeded to patrol his beat. As the policemen moved away. Uh, dark forum came out of a nearby doorway and hurried around the corner. The man was tall. He wore a long Ulster with the collar turned up around his neck and a slouch hat that was pulled down over his eyes. He followed closely in the old man's trail. The old man halted several times. And as he did, so his form seemed to lose its decrepitude. As the light from the street lamps shown upon his face. It could be seen that his eyes glared like two living Coles. He threw his hand aloft. And so fierce and startling was the action that the man who was following him, halted and shrank back for an instant. As if he had been struck. Vengeance the old man hissed, and then he started on again. The street was deserted save by the old man and the man who was following him. The former walked on, looking up at the tall warehouses and store buildings, muttering to himself. More than once he put his hand up to his head and gazed about in a bewildered manner. His limbs shook under him, for a long time, had passed since they had been used to such exertion. The fresh air came. So strangely upon him that he panted for breath. Suddenly he halted in front of an old fashioned three story brick building near chamber street. Uh, beacon shaped red lamp was burning over the doorway. And upon the front pane of glass was painted. The red dragon in established by William sill, 1776. It was an old landmark in the neighborhood. And it had always been a hot story. In revolutionary times it was a post Roadhouse and was famous as the headquarters of many of the British officers. During later days, it became the resort. At the Noonday hour of many of new York's most stayed and solid merchants whose places of business were in the vicinity. At this time. The ground floor was occupied by a man who ran a saloon and restaurant. And who rented out the upstairs rooms to transient lodgers. No improvements have been made about the place. And it stood just as it did when it was conducted by its original owner. As the old man paused in front of the end. The sound of voices and the clinking of glasses came from within. He walked up to the door and opened it. Then he stepped into the saloon, staggered up to the bar and in a low tone, ordered a glass of toddy, which was supplied to him. A number of men were seated at the tables drinking, and none of them paid any attention to the newcomer. Who drank his toddy while standing and leaning against the bar. The old man placed his empty glass back upon the counter and facing the bartender said. I want a room for the night. There is only one empty. The bartender replied. It is in the attic. That will answer my purpose. It will cost you $1. The old man drew purse out of his pocket. Took out the amount and handed it to the bartender who asked. Do you want to retire now? I do. The old man answered. I will show you the way up. That won't be necessary. I am familiar with every room in the house. Many of the time I have stopped here in other days. If you will tell me which room I am to occupy, I will go up to it. The second room in the back part of the attic on the left of the stairway is the one. You will find a lamp on the table in the hall of the second floor. All right. The old man left the room while the bartender gazed after him with curiosity. He climbed the stairway and reach the second floor. Where he found the lamp. And then proceeded upstairs to the attic room. An hour after he retired, the house was silent. All the midnight revelers having gone home and the bartender having closed up the saloon. New year's day, dawned bright and clear. The proprietor of the red dragon in opened the bar room and at nine o'clock. The bartender came downstairs. For a time, the two men stood talking. There were no customers in the place. At last, the bartender asked the proprietor. If he had seen anything of the strange old man who had come in after midnight. The proprietor. Said that the old man had not appeared. Did he request you to call him? He inquired. No. The bartender answered. Shall I go up and ask him if he wants breakfast. Yes. The bartender ascended to the attic. The door of the room, which the old man had been assigned to stood a jar. The man knocked, but there was no answer. He pounded again and shouted still. No answer. Finally, the man pushed the door open. A terrible site, met his gaze. Stretched out upon the bed. He beheld the old man with his throat, cut from ear to ear. His hands were folded across his breast. And he was covered by the coverlet of the bed. Evidently. There had been no struggle. The bartender uttered a cry of alarm, but he did not enter the room. As soon as he recovered from his surprise, he dashed off downstairs crying murder at the top of his voice. Instantly the house was aroused and in a short time, a great crowd congregated in the street. In front of the door. Chapter two. Searching for clues. Early on new year's morning, Nicholas Carter, the famous detective arrived in Jersey city on a train from Chicago, where he had been investigating a diamond case, which he had closed up successfully. Danny his chauffer met him at the station with his powerful touring car. And in a few minutes, they were crossing the Hudson river on the downtown ferry over to chambers street. They had just landed and were beginning to get headway along that thoroughfare. When their attention was attracted by a loud commotion in the street. Leaning over Carter be held the crowd congregating in front of the red dragon Inn, which was almost opposite. He heard the cries of murder. Instantly the veterans energies were aroused. He forgot all about his not having had breakfast and springing out. He pushed his way through the crowd and entered the bar room of the red dragon in. There he found the proprietor pacing up and down in a state of nervous excitement. A policemen was also there. And to him, Nick applied for information. I can't make head nor tail of it. The policemen replied to Carter's inquiry. I've sent word to the police station, Mr. Carter. And I am expecting the captain every minute. Have you been upstairs? Now sir, I thought it best to wait until the captain arrived. Where is the bartender. Standing over there. And the policemen pointed to the man who is leaning against the bar. Carter stepped up to the bartender and asked. What is your name? George Terry. The bartender answered. How long have you been employed here? Three years. I believe you discovered the murder. Well, I did, sir. At what time? About 20 minutes ago. Do you know, the man. No, sir, he's a stranger to me. What's his name? I forgot to ask him. Don't you keep a register. No, sir. What time did the man arrive? Shortly after midnight. Did he have any luggage? No, sir. Tell me all about your conversation with him. As I said, he came in here shortly after midnight. He seemed weak and exhausted as he slipped up to the bar. He requested me to make him a hot toddy, which I did. After he'd finished his drink. He had asked me if I could let them have a room for the night. And I told him that the attic room was vacant and that he could have that. He paid the price out of a well-filled purse. I offered to conduct him up to the room, Mr. Carter but he said it would not be necessary because he was familiar with the house. He having stopped here on various occasions 20 years ago. He left the room. And that was the last I saw of him until I discovered his murdered body. When I went up to the attic to call him and opened the door of his room, he occupied. You heard him say he had stopped here on various occasions 20 years ago. Yes, sir. What's the proprietor's name. Henry Lancaster. How long has he conducted this place? 10 years. Do you know the name of the man from whom he purchased it? No, sir, I do not. Has anyone been upstairs to the murdered man's room since you made the discovery? No one's been near it sir. Everything is undisturbed. I did not enter. Um, I will speak to the proprietor. Carter approached Mr. Lancaster, who was a middle-aged man of affable manners. The bartender informs me that you have conducted this place for about 10 years. The detective said, as he came up to Mr. Lancaster. I've owned it for nearly 11 years. Mr. Lancaster replied. From whom did you purchase it? A man named Peter Wright who had been the proprietor for nearly a quarter of a century. Is Mr. Wright alive. He is. Where does he reside? At the cosmopolitan hotel across the street. He's a bachelor and entirely alone in the world. All of his relatives having died. He's an Englishman by birth and, and a courtly old gentlemen. He has a moderate income to live on and he is enjoying himself in his declining years. All of the merchants of old New York knew him. And when he conducted the red dragon in, it was famous as a chop house. Mr. Wright's acquaintance is extensive added Lancaster. If you see him. He may know something about the murdered man. If the man spoke the truth, when he said that he used to stop here 20 years ago. Hmm. Well, I shall surely call upon Mr. Wright and ask him to take a look at the remains. At this moment, Carter felt a heavy hand laid upon a shoulder. He turned around and be held the captain of the precinct who had just arrived. I am glad to see you, Mr. Carter. The officer exclaimed. You can help us in this. And as usual, I suppose you have gleaned considerable information. Hmm. I have found very little. The detective replied. Will you help us? Certainly. Ah, my mind is relieved. I hope you'll take full charge of the case. What about headquarters? I'll take care of that. While you have charge the people that headquarters will not interfere. Have you sent out on the alarm. Yes. Well, Let us go up to the attic room then. And request your men to keep everyone downstairs. I'll do that. The police captain issued his instructions to his men. And then he and Carter proceeded upstairs to the attic room in which the body of the victim lay. The captain stood out in the hall on the threshold while the detective entered the room. Carter stepped up to the side of the bed and scrutinized the face of the victim closely in silence. His throat was cut while he slept. Nick remarked looking towards the captain. Do you see any sign of the weapon with which the crime was committed? The police official asked. Not yet. Carter turned around and commenced to inspect the room. For nearly 15 minutes, he was engaged in the work without uttering a word. The police captain watched him with close attention. The detective went over the ground with the avidity of a sleuth hound, scenting for a trail. Every nook and corner of the apartment was inspected until the detective stood by the window, the sash of which was raised. He looked at the sill and then uttered an exclamation. What is it? The police captain asked, entering the room and stepping up to Carter side. See here. The detective replied pointing with his forefinger, to the stains upon the window sale and the lower part of the sash. Here are imprints of bloody fingers. The murder after he committed the crime, came over to this window and raised the sash. And here are bloody tracks on the outside. Look. There are imprints of shoes in the snow, across the roof. They lead from here to the edge. The murderer escaped this way. Wait here. What are you going to do? You will see. Carter crawled out of the window onto the roof and followed the tracks in the snow until he came to the edge of the roof where he halted and looked over. They're attached to the side of the house. He beheld an iron ladder leading from the roof down to the yard. Still he saw nothing of the weapon with which the crime had been committed. There was no doubt. Now in his mind about the assassin, having escaped by the roof. He returned to the room and gave the captain an accurate, but brief account of what he had discovered. This leads me to think that the murderer possessed some knowledge of this house, the police, captain remarked, after he had listened to what the detective had to say. Probably. Carter rejoined. And then for a time he lapsed into deep thought. The captain was also silent. Nick's eyes wandered around the room and he bit his lips. Upon his face, there was a strained expression. One could tell that he was following some train of thought. The pupils of his eyes blazed brilliantly. Minute after minute past, and still he did not speak. Patiently his companion waited. Carter's eyes rested upon the clothing of the victim, which was lying on a chair near the bed. In a corner of the room. It was in a confused heap. The detective step forward. We have overlooked these, he exclaimed pointing to the clothes. I was just looking at them. The police, captain remarked. It seems to me that they must have been disturbed by the murderer. They were. Carter rejoined holding up the dead man's vest for the police captain to inspect. There are bloodstains upon this and the other garments. Search the pockets. For some minutes, the detective was engaged in making the search. When he finished, he looked at the captain. Nothing. He said tersely. The murder secured, everything. The police captain rejoined in a tone of disappointment. He has left, not a scrap of paper by which the dead man could be identified. Everything is gone. Yes. It's too bad. Yes, but I have made a discovery. A discovery. What is it? These are prison clothes. They are new. What are you sure? I am positive. They were made in sing, sing prison. And what is your conclusion? This murdered man was recently released from state's prison. Perhaps the motive for the crime was revenge. Hm. Maybe. And still he may have been murdered because he possessed information by which someone was afraid would be divulged. Yup, that maybe it. In one way, this discovery is important. And you really think this man was a convict. I do. If he were not a release convict, he would not have worn clothing made expressly for the convicts. Well, he may have purchased them from one. That is so, but still, I think he did not. Well, there is one clue. Anyway. Yes. Well, let's go downstairs. They left the room. Carter closed and locked the door. On the way downstairs, the detective inspected the steps, but he found nothing which would throw any light upon the mystery. There were no tracks except those in the snow, on the roof. The leading question in his mind was how the murderer had entered the house. After he had returned to the bar room. He called the bartender aside and asked. Do you remember if anyone came in after the old man retired? Yes I do. Now, now that I come to think of it. The bartender exclaimed with considerable animation. A tall man, enter just as the old man left the room. He wore a long Ulster and a slouch hat. This man, sir. Stepped up to the bar and called for whiskey, which I served him. He took a seat at a table near the whole door. I was busy supplying orders to the other customers, and I did not pay any attention to them. When I came to close up. He was gone. When he went out, I don't know. But he may have left while I was serving drinks at some of the other tables. Would you know, the man, if you should see him again, inquire the detective. I can not tell whether I would or not. Are you able to describe him? I should think he was about. Uh, 45 or 50 years old, his, his face was covered with a heavy brown beard. His eyes were black, restless and penetrating. That is all I can remember about him. I didn't pay particular attention to him. Who occupied the room next to the one in which the man was murdered. I did. And what time did you retire? Uh, it was probably about half past one. O'clock. As I was about to enter my room. I noticed that a light was burning in the old man's room. I thought at the time that he had not yet retired, but I didn't hear him make any noise. You were not awakened during the night. No. Are you a sound sleeper? I am. What time did you get up? 'Bout half past eight o'clock. Carter went out into the backyard. There he found footprints in the snow, leading from the foot of the ladder over to a gate in the fence, which opened to an alley running along between the yards into Hudson street. The trail was plain and distinct. The detective followed it until it ended on Hudson street. Then he returned to the yard where he made a search for the weapon, thinking the assassin might've thrown it away. But there was no trace of it to be found. Carter went back into the bar room. The coroner had arrived and was preparing to take charge for the body. The detective hurried across the street to the cosmopolitan hotel. And ask to see Mr. Wright, the former proprietor of the red dragon in. Mr. Wright. Was a portly old gentlemen with a large florid jovial face and received the detective instantly. He listened attentively to what Carter had to say. And he complied with his request to accompany him over to the Inn and view the remains of the victim. If that man spoke the truth, Mr. Wright remarked as he and the detective left the hotel. Then I may be able to identify the body. Who is the mysterious old man? And exactly who killed him and how did this person manage to do the deed without being seen? The answer to these questions and more will be answered in upcoming episodes of toying with fate or Nick Carter's narrow shave. Well, friends that concludes this week's exciting episode. Fair warning. Do you faithful listeners out there? I will. More than likely stay in this genre for some time. Once again, I'd like to remind you that if you like the show, why not leave a review and, or a rating on your listening app, like apple podcast, good pods or pod chaser. And if you really like the show. Please support the show by becoming a monthly supporter. Using my, buy me a coffee page. It's the same idea as Patrion, but a lot more user-friendly and several more options that I'm able to offer you. I also have a blog on that. Buy me a coffee page where I will give more background information on story papers, dime novels, public domain stories that I find interesting and upcoming podcasts. Okay. Well, as usual I've rambled long enough. As always my friends. Thanks for listening. Keep sharing the stories. And B. A good human. Bye for now.