The Adventures of Ethel King, the Female Nick Carter

by Jean Petithuguenin

  “Is he here tonight?”

  “I don’t believe so. He always makes a lot of noise when he comes in, letting the door slam and making noise on the stairs.”

  “Why do you rent to him? You aren’t that hard up, are you?”

  “Certainly not. But he came to ask me to give him that bedroom, telling me that he had a great desire to have a place to stop off in this street and he had found nothing available. Since I didn’t need that room, I gave it over to him.”

  “Ah! I understand! It was very important to this gentleman to live, not only in this street, but also near house No. 478.”

  “So you suspect him, Miss King?”

  “Indeed. Your answers have confirmed my opinion. I will ask you now to take me to the bedroom in question. I would like to examine it.”

  “But what if Mr. Rooding is up there! He could have come in without my hearing him,” observed the old man.

  “He did come in without your hearing him, Mr. Green, and I’m persuaded that he avoided making any noise so as not to betray his presence.”

  “Then he’s still there?” exclaimed Mr. Green?

  “No, he has, if I’m not mistaken, left his bedroom in a somewhat unusual way.”

  “What way?”

  “We’ll see that upstairs.”

  The old man took the initiative and led Ethel King to the second floor. He found that his renter’s bedroom door was locked.

  “The key isn’t in the lock,” he said. “That’s a sign Mr. Rooding isn’t in his bedroom.”

  “So, he’s in the habit of locking his door when he goes out?”

  “Yes, the maid can’t clean his bedroom except when he’s there.”

  “Has your maid ever let slip any remark allowing you to suppose that she had noticed anything extraordinary about Mr. Rooding?”

  “Never.”

  “Do you have another key to this door?”

  “No. We can’t go in, Miss King.”

  “Oh! Yes, we can,” the young woman answered, smiling. “For detectives, there’s no lock that will hold, Mr. Green.”

  She took a bunch of lock picks out of her pocket and had soon opened the door. Green went in first and turned on the electric lights. He exclaimed in surprise. Miss Ethel King said coolly:

  “That’s just what I thought.”

  A polished pole about 12 feet long was placed on the floor. One of the ends, turned toward the window, was fitted with an iron spike.

  “I’m going to explain to you, Mr. Green, how Mrs. Wallis’ abductor got out of this bedroom. He calculated everything to throw off the police, but he was wrong to think he could deceive an individual even a little observant.”

  She went to the window and looked down into the garden. The light from the bedroom lit up the top of the portico.

  “You see, Mr. Green,” Ethel King said, “Rooding used that pole. He hammered the end fitted with a spike into the beam of the portico and fitted the other end on the window ledge. Then he slid slowly and cautiously along this improvised bridge to the portico. Once seated on the beam, he threw the spike into the bedroom, then descended to the trapeze suspended there, gained momentum and jumped a certain distance.”

  “But why did he do that?”

  “To make his trail impossible to follow. A lot of people would let themselves be taken in, that’s certain. But the presence of the portico and the open window on the second window of your house struck me. From those facts, I drew the conclusions that led me here.”

  “You’re incomparable!” Green exclaimed. “I’m also persuaded now that Rooding is the criminal.”

  “I hope to lay hands on him soon.”

  Ethel King began a minute inspection of the bedroom, but discovered nothing important.

  “Nevertheless, he couldn’t hide that spike from the maid who cleaned his room,” Ethel King observed. “Is that girl your only servant?”

  “Yes, but on major cleaning days I have other women come in to help her.”

  “Then that servant is the one who does everything?”

  “Yes, she’s the one who does the cooking and takes care of the house.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Martha Lockwood.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  “No, but she has an almost exaggerated gaiety.”

  “I understand. The handsome Rooding didn’t have much trouble drawing her into his net. Wake that girl up, please, Mr. Green. Have her come down immediately to the drawing room!”

  “As you order, Miss King.”

  Mr. Green climbed up to the third floor, but Ethel King went back down to the first floor, where she waited for Mr. Green. When he rejoined her, she showed him the anonymous letter that Harold Wallis had received.

  “Do you recognize this stationery?” she asked him.

  “Absolutely, that’s the one I use.”

  “And the handwriting?”

  “I have never seen it before.”

  Asked by the detective, he read with astonishment and indignation the few lines addressed to Wallis.

  “That’s an infamous calumny! Mrs. Wallis has never done anything to justify such accusations.”

  “I know that,” Ethel King declared, “but I presume your maid can inform you as to the author of that letter.”

  The servant entered the drawing room five minutes later. She was a robust, red-cheeked girl who might have been 28 to 38 years old. She had a short, pug nose, and she squinted.

  “What’s happening that’s making me come down in the middle of the night?” she asked.

  “I’m from the police,” Ethel King said seriously. “I have some questions to ask you.”

  “From the police?”

  The maid turned pale and sank into the chair that the detective pointed out to her.

  “You don’t need to be afraid. If you tell me the whole truth, nothing will happen to you.”

  Martha Lockwood was somewhat reassured.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong either,” she said impudently. “You don’t have anything to reproach me with.”

  “Really? Think about it, Martha Lockwood.”

  “No, no, I haven’t done anything.”

  Then Ethel suddenly put the anonymous letter under the maid’s nose.

  “And who wrote this letter?” she asked her in a sharp voice.

  Martha Lockwood lost her composure.

  “I don’t know anything about that,” she stammered.

  “So admit it,” the detective continued. “If not, I’ll be forced to arrest you and take you to prison as an accomplice of the criminal, John Rooding.”

  The girl cried out in terror.

  “John Rooding, a criminal? Oh! That…that’s my death!”

  “Answer me now. Who wrote this letter?”

  “Me!” the maid answered, bursting into tears.

  “Why?”

  “Oh, I had reasons for doing it. John Rooding deceived me. He started an affair with the beautiful Mrs. Wallis.”

  “Tell us everything!”

  The maid started a story interspersed with sobs.

  “The first time John Rooding came here, he paid attention to me and told me I was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, that no one had ever made such an impression on his heart.”

  “You naturally believed him? “Ethel King asked, throwing a furtive glance at Mr. Green.

  “Why would I not have believed him. I’m not ugly and Mr. Rooding was so nice to me! I was completely happy when he told me he wanted to make me his wife.”

  “So, he promised you marriage?”

  “No doubt of it.”

  “After that you didn’t say anything about the spike that you saw in his bedroom.”

  “Ah! You know about that?” Martha exclaimed. “He made me promise not to say anything.”

  “Yes, we know about that. So this Rooding completely dominated you. He flattered you and kissed you and you believed everything he told you.”

  The maid let out a
deep sigh.

  “Yes, at first, but after two weeks I didn’t have the same confidence in him.”

  “Why this change?”

  “I was always asking him who he was and where he lived in town, but he refused to answer me.”

  “And nevertheless you believed in his sincerity,” exclaimed James Green in a tone of reproach.

  “Alas! Mr. Green, love makes you blind,” Martha said, weeping. “And John is such a handsome man.”

  “Have you attempted to find out his address?” Ethel King asked.

  “Yes, it bothered me too much. One morning when he left at daybreak I followed him.”

  “Ah! A good idea! Rooding didn’t notice you?”

  “No. I had taken my precautions so that he wouldn’t recognize me. I hid my face under a big shawl. John didn’t think that I was following him, because he didn’t turn around once.”

  “Good! Where did he go?”

  “He reached the Market Street station and took the train to 10th Street on the other side of Schuylkill River; then he walked as far as Filbert Street, where he went into a beautiful house. I went in also, but the concierge stopped me. When I asked him if the gentleman who went in ahead of me was the owner of the house, he answered ‘yes’ and added that if I wanted something from Mr. Allamore, I would have to come back another day.

  “I became panicky. The thought that John Rooding had introduced himself to me under a false name shattered me.”

  “Did you take down Mr. Allamore’s address?”

  “No, but I can find the house again.”

  “Good. You’ll take me there as soon as it’s daylight. And, now, tell me how you came to write that letter to Mr. Wallis.”

  “I once saw John slip into the Wallis’ house at night. I stood at my bedroom window. He used his pole to reach the portico; then he jumped to the ground. He went into the garden of the house next door. Then, driven by curiosity, I went out by the little courtyard door and went to look through the windows of the Wallis’ house. There was a light in the ground floor room. I saw John Rooding kneeling in front of the beautiful Mrs. Wallis.”

  “And what was Mrs. Wallis’ attitude?”

  “I can’t say. My eyes became blurred by tears and I returned quickly to the house. It was well that I did, because Rooding got out of the Wallis house through a window on the first floor and went across the gardens in the direction of Samson Street. I was desperate, and at the same time indignant against Mrs. Wallis. I sat down at my master’s secretary and wrote the anonymous letter that I addressed to Mr. Harold Wallis at his factory to be sure that it got to him.”

  “And you didn’t say anything to Mr. Rooding?”

  “Since then I’ve never had the opportunity to speak to him in private; otherwise I would have told him what I had in my heart.”

  “Forget that rascal, Martha,” Ethel King advised. “He’s unworthy of your regrets. After tomorrow he’ll be in prison. And now, come. You’re going to show me the house of Mr. Rooding, or Allamore. The scoundrel has forcibly abducted Mrs. Wallis and is undoubtedly holding her prisoner. We must snatch his prisoner from him!”

  “What are you saying?” Martha Lockwood exclaimed. “He took that lady away in spite of herself? Oh! He has to be made to pay for that. I’m ready to go with you, Miss, and I want that rascal to know that I was the one who helped you.”

  While the maid dressed to go out, the great detective went back to the Wallis townhouse, took some of the bloody roses, rolled them into paper, and put them under her arm.

  Arrest of the Kidnapper

  Day was breaking when Ethel King arrived with the maid in front of No. 57 Filbert Street.

  “That’s John Rooding’s house,” Martha stated.

  The door wasn’t yet open; the concierge wasn’t yet at his post. Ethel had requisitioned a policeman who was on guard in the street. She had shown her detective’s badge and identified herself. She picked the lock, which required some time, but the door finally opened and the young woman went into the entry hall with her companion. She mounted to the second floor and found John Allamore’s name on the main door of an apartment. Ethel tried again to use her lock picks to open, but her attempt failed. The lock was secured by a special device.

  “Hide in the stairwell,” the detective said. “I’m going to ring the bell. Wait until I call you.”

  Martha and the policeman obeyed, and Ethel King pushed the doorbell. After a moment of silence, she heard the sound of someone opening a door in the apartment and a voice asking:

  “Who’s there?”

  “A lady who wants to speak to Mr. Allamore about a very urgent matter.”

  “He’s not seeing anyone.”

  “Too bad for him! I’ve come to help him. Will you let me in?”

  “Then what’s it about?”

  “It’s concerning a matter only Mr. Allamore and I know about.”

  “Wait, I’ll open.”

  Locks squeaked and a man looked distrustfully through the half-opened door. There were lights in the entry. Ethel put her foot between the door and the door frame. Given Green’s description to her, she had immediately recognized the handsome man with an olive complexion, curly hair, and a jade black mustache. She quickly put a revolver under the criminal’s nose.

  “Mr. Allamore, or John Rooding, as you’re pleased to call yourself, you’re under arrest! This is Ethel King speaking to you.”

  The man stepped back, terrified, and the young woman followed him into the back of the antechamber. He stopped there, dismayed.

  “Ethel King!” he exclaimed. “What do you want with me?”

  The detective pointed to a bandage the man had on his left hand.

  “I know about the circumstances in which you hurt your hand. That’s what I’ve come about.”

  “What are you saying?” exclaimed Rooding, making an effort to regain control of himself. “You’re about to commit a ridiculous mistake and an injustice!”

  “Not at all. You know very well why I’m here.”

  Ethel King took the little packet out from under her arm, letting the paper fall off it, and presented two white roses stained with blood.

  “Do you recognize these roses?” she asked in a cutting tone.

  “No, I’ve never seen them before,” he stammered.

  But his whole attitude belied his words.

  “The blood these roses are stained with comes from your hand,” Ethel King said severely. Mrs. Wallis wounded you when you entered her house to kidnap her.”

  The scoundrel burst out in rage.

  “I don’t know anything about it! I don’t want to know anything about it!” he bellowed. “Leave me alone! I don’t know Mrs. Wallis!”

  The detective didn’t move her revolver aside.

  “Your lies won’t help you any, Mr. Allamore. Give in to the inevitable. That would be the best way to predispose the judges in your favor.”

  The man lifted a chair and brandished it.

  “Leave here or I’ll kill you!” he screamed. “You wretch! You’ve come to steal my happiness from me.”

  “Take a single step and I’ll shoot,” Ethel King answered coldly. “Hey! Policeman! Come here!”

  Then the scoundrel lost all control of himself. He jumped toward Ethel King, who avoided him by jumping to one side because she didn’t want to kill him. As he was turning around, the policeman arrived and grabbed him by the arm. A short struggle ended in the defeat of Allamore. The appearance of Martha Lockwood on the threshold had finished him.

  “Where is Mrs. Wallis?” Ethel King demanded.

  As the prisoner didn’t answer, the detective began a search for the young woman and found her, desperate, locked in a padded cabinet where her cries couldn’t be heard.

  Irma’s joy, when she heard she was free to return to her husband, can be imagined. Her eyes flashing with indignation, she approached Allamore, who almost fainted on seeing her.

  “Miserable creature!” she shouted at him. “I have
no pity for you. You deserve your fate!”

  “Irma,” Allamore moaned. “I only acted out of love for you.”

  “For love? The man who truly loves is incapable of torturing the object of his passion in this way. No, it was a perverse desire driving you, nothing else. Policeman, take that man to prison!”

  Joseph Allamore made a movement as if to throw himself out the window, but the policeman restrained him and led him away.

  Ethel King took a cab with Mrs. Wallis, while the maid returned by the train. On the way, the young woman recounted to the detective what had happened.

  “He’s insane,” she said. “His passion for me is true dementia. I met him two years ago when I was still living with my mother in Philadelphia, on Diamond Street. I met him at a ball. Since that time, he has pursued me. At the beginning I rather liked him, but his impetuous passion finally put me off. He frightened me and I sent him away rather harshly.

  “As my mother and I were afraid of reprisals, we moved to Wayne Junction and I took a job as a cashier at Mr. Wallis’ factory. Allamore had lost trace of us. But his passion didn’t cool off. He searched Philadelphia and its suburbs to find me, and finally discovered me when I was already the wife of my dear Harold.

  “One evening, when I was waiting for my husband in the library of our house, Allamore came in to me through an open window. You can judge what my terror was! He threw himself at my feet and begged me to follow him if I didn’t wish for his death. He would probably have used violence against me if the sound of a key in the entry door had not announced my husband’s arrival.

  “Allamore threatened to kill me if I said a word to Harold. Then he jumped out the window and disappeared. I went up to my bedroom and invented an excuse to explain to my husband my prolonged stay in the library.

  “Last night Allamore came into my bedroom and dragged me away by force. I first took refuge in the telephone booth and called you to come help me. But the scoundrel broke down the door and made short work of my resistance. He cut his hand when breaking the glass.

  “He picked me up unconscious and carried me to his house by automobile. He wanted to force me to give up my husband to belong to him. But I would rather have been killed than submit to that infamy.”

  The vehicle had reached Walnut Street, in front of the Wallis’ townhouse. Harold’s joy was as great as the amazement of the Commissioner, who had already ordered the garden dug up to find Irma’s corpse.