OR CLEVER BUT CROOKED BY NICHOLAS CARTER Author of “The Barrel Mystery,” “The Blood-red Badge,” “The Crown Diamond,” etc. STREET & SMITH CORPORATION PUBLISHERS 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York Copyright, 1902-1903 By STREET & SMITH The Photographer’s Evidence All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian. Printed in the U.S.A. THE PHOTOGRAPHER’S EVIDENCE. “Mr. Carter, can I trust you?” It was in the great detective’s own house

“You haven’t offended me.” “I am so disturbed by it, you see. So much depends on secrecy. It is so terribly important that I found it difficult to make up my mind to consult anybody on the matter; and yet I know by your reputation that you are a perfectly trustworthy man. There is nobody in the States more so.” While the man was speaking Nick was studying him. In fact, the detective had been doing that from the moment the man entered. He was apparently about fifty years old; a well-dressed, pros

Snell went into a drug store and bought a cigar. The man who seemed to be following him loafed on the opposite corner. Patsy turned down a street, and dropped into a doorway, where he made a swift change in his appearance. He was at Snell’s heels again when the man from Wenonah went on. The other man seemed to have disappeared. “I was mistaken,” thought Patsy, “or the second chap is a better shadow than I am.” For some blocks he kept up his chase, never losing sight of Snell, and seeing nothing

He went part way through the cabin, giving stealthy, side glances at the men on the seats. When he came to the doorway that led to the upper deck, he went up. “He won’t find Snell up there, I think,” said Patsy to himself, as he got up and went forward. The detective went as far as the door that opened upon the forward deck. Looking through it, he saw Snell leaning against the rail. Nobody else was out there. At that moment the boat had hardly got beyond the end of the ferry slip. Patsy sat down

The first bullet tore a hole in the floor, just in front of his right toe. “Dance, you onery cuss! dance!” yelled Serpent Sam. “I don’t know how,” replied Patsy. “Jump then, you idiot! jump into the air, durn ye! I’ll teach ye!” As he spoke, Serpent Sam fired again. This time the bullet struck so close to the detective’s foot that it jarred it. But no harm was done, and Patsy never stirred. He knew that the first shots would be aimed so as to scare him—not to hit. After that, Serpent Sam might b

Snell came to the door of Bronco Bill’s and stood there a moment, looking up and down the street. “He wants to walk for exercise,” thought the waiting detective, “but he doesn’t dare to get far away, for he’s expecting somebody. I won’t bother to follow him.” So Snell that morning took his walks alone. They were not long ones. He was always back at Bronco Bill’s within ten minutes from the time he started. At length he went in and stayed there. Patsy went across and looked in long enough to see

Why they had not attacked him at once could only be guessed. Probably they were so surprised that they didn’t know what to do at first. And maybe they thought he might be a prospector, or anybody but a detective, who would go away as soon as he had taken a look. “Wal, by gosh!” muttered one who seemed to be the leader of the sentinels, “I reckon this’ll make some difference with what they’re jawin’ about down thar.” Patsy tried a bluff. “I’d like to know what you mean,” he began, indignantly. “I

Nick took the next train for the West. Dinsmore’s telegram was sent from Manchester, the capital of Wenonah, and there, of course, the detective went. The journey was without incident, and was made as rapidly as possible, considering that there are no through trains between New York and the distant Canadian town. Dinsmore met him at the station. “I’ve got a telegram for you,” he said, as soon as they had shaken hands. “It was forwarded from New York, after you left.” Nick opened and read it. It

“You haven’t produced the goods.” Snell, or, rather, Gov. Bradley, stopped counting out the money, and looked straight at the leader. “Plank down the money!” ordered the leader, harshly. Just then there was a furious knocking at both the back and front doors. Loud voices—there seemed to be a dozen of them—were crying: “Surrender, in the name of the law!” “We’re done!” gasped the leader, starting up, and lifting his revolver, “and by thunder! I know who done it! You, Harry, you sneak, with your a

The telegram was from a man named Folsom, whom Nick had met while examining his friend’s mining property. It intimated that a tragic occurrence was disturbing the people of Mason Creek, and that the services of Nick Carter would be appreciated in clearing up the mystery. Nick decided to reply in person to the telegram, and started immediately for Denver. It is necessary to go back a little to understand why Folsom had telegraphed for Nick. A day or two before, two men had met on a rocky plateau,

At last the clerk recalled that Judson had been with Claymore early in the morning, and that the two had dined together in the hotel restaurant at noon. Accordingly, a messenger was sent to the oil company’s office to inform Claymore of what had happened. It was while the messenger was gone on this errand that a man went into the hotel, and laid his card on the clerk’s desk. “Send it up to Mr. Judson, please,” he said. “Mr. Judson!” gasped the clerk, looking first at the man and then at his card

Nick smiled, and glanced at Folsom. “Usually,” he said, “my friends do not have a brass band to meet me when I begin to work.” Folsom started, and looked uncomfortable. He had heard it said that Nick Carter had a great objection to working on a case when it was known that he was at work. “I beg your pardon,” said Folsom, hastily; “I’ve been excited this afternoon, or I would have sent for you secretly, but there’s no brass band about it. Mr. Kerr is the only one who knows that you are here.” “It

“As to motive,” replied Nick, “I can only guess, but if Claymore is crooked and Judson was straight, isn’t it possible that Judson threatened an exposure, and that Claymore would try to prevent it?” Kerr nodded. “That’s all right,” he said, “but in the face of this evidence,” and he tapped the messenger’s book. “It looks very bad for Hank Low,” admitted Nick. “You think that Claymore set Low up to it?” remarked Folsom. “Do I?” inquired Nick, mildly. “Well,” responded Folsom, “what are we to thin

In the next second, Nick had exerted all his giant strength, and rolled the beast over. He got upon his knees and fired his revolver three times in rapid succession at the huge carcass that he could feel but not see in front of him. Then a rough, surprised voice interrupted him. “Geewhilikins! how many of ’em be ye, anyway?” “Only one, stranger,” replied Nick, getting to his feet. “Gosh! I thought it mought be a regiment by the way ye fired. Got a double-quick action repeater, ain’t ye?” Nick di

“This will be a great story for the newspaper fellows,” he said. “They’ve been here all the evening till about half an hour ago. I told them to come back later.” Nick looked thoughtful. He wondered if it would be necessary to give the honest farmer the shame of having it printed that he had been arrested for murder. “I suppose the newspaper boys know that I am on the case,” said Nick. “Oh, yes—everybody knows it.” “But they don’t know that I went to Mason Creek?” “Well, I reckon they’ve guessed

“Whew!” whistled Nick. “It means a fight with all the crooks in Denver, if we go there.” “Well, that’s where they are, and they’re waiting for Claymore.” “All right. We’ll go there and get them, then, if we decide we’d better arrest them. Is that all?” “Not quite. Knowing they were there to stay, I ran back to Claymore’s office. He had just put out his lights and was leaving the building. “He went to police headquarters.” “Did you go in, too?” “With a disguise, yes. I saw that Claymore had a pri

Probably he reckoned that the detective would wish to take him alive, for he did not surrender when he saw the revolver pointed at his heart. Instead, he made a quick rush at Nick, trying to knock up both his arms. The detective was quite ready for that. It was true that he wished to take the men alive, and he did not fire. He had hoped they would be scared into quiet surrender. When the attack came, he dropped both weapons to the sidewalk. Letting drive with his fists, he caught Nat on the ches