Transcriber’s Notes:
The original spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been retained, with the exception of apparent typographical errors which have been corrected.
NICK CARTER STORIES
Issued Weekly. Entered as Second-class Matter at the New York Post Office, by Street & Smith, 79-89 Seventh Ave., New York.
Copyright, 1915, by Street & Smith. O.G. Smith and G.C. Smith, Proprietors.
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No. 135. NEW YORK, April 10, 1915. Price Five Cents.
STRAIGHT TO THE GOAL; Or, NICK CARTER’S QUEER CHALLENGE.
Edited by CHICKERING CARTER.
CHAPTER I. THE MESSAGE OF THE SPEAR.
A spear shot into the midst of the camp, and stuck, quivering, in the ground!
Patsy Garvan and Chick jumped to their feet, rifle in hand, and looked inquiringly at Nick Carter.
The detective had not moved. He was sitting with his back against a rock, a cigar in his mouth, and silently contemplating the small fire that he had consented to have made.
When the spear came sailing over the bluff, at the foot of which was the little camp, he merely glanced at it, as if it were a rather curious visitor, but not one to cause untoward agitation.
There were other persons around the camp fire besides Nick Carter and his two assistants.
Jefferson Arnold, the millionaire shipowner of New York and Calcutta; Jai Singh, the high-caste Hindu, who had proved himself so valuable an ally to Nick Carter, and Adil, also an East Indian, the body servant of Jefferson Arnold’s son, Leslie, all were sitting there.
The men started up when the spear came sailing over the rocks and buried its heavy metal head in the ground just before them.
“That thing might have hit some of us,” cried Jefferson Arnold. “Better look out! There may be others.”
“I hardly think so,” was Nick Carter’s calm response. “That is a message only, unless I am much mistaken. Don’t you see there is something tied around the wooden shaft just below the head. Looks like a bit of cloth.”
He stepped forward, and, with a sharp tug, drew the spear from the hard earth. Then he unwound from it a silk necktie of a rather unusual pattern.
“It is Leslie’s!” shouted Jefferson Arnold wildly, as he held out his hand for the tie. “I never saw one like it except on my son. He had it on when we were in that city yonder.”
“I remember it,” answered Nick, looking at the curious combination of colors thoughtfully. “It struck me as unique, and yet in perfect taste. Still, probably there are others like it in the world.”
“Perhaps. But it isn’t likely others would have these initials embroidered on the back of it,” rejoined Jefferson. “See! ‘L.A.’ No, Carter, this is my boy’s necktie, and he is in the hands of those rapscallions over there.”
The father buried his face in his hands, and rocked to and fro convulsively.
“Well, even so, what is the meaning of the spear coming over the rocks like this?” asked Patsy.
“There can be only one meaning,” returned Nick Carter. “Calaman, the high priest of that strange city, Shangore, sends us this necktie to let us know he has Leslie Arnold a prisoner.”
