“A nice trick,” said the detective. “I believe it took you some time to teach the bird that.”
“About a year,” growled Horace. “The bird was well trained before.”
“Is it all clear?” said Nick.
“Perfectly,” said the colonel. “But how did you get at it?”
“Simply enough. There was only one way into this room when those robberies were committed, and the parrot was the only living thing in the house that was small enough to go through that pipe and intelligent enough to do the trick.
“You see, Horace trained the bird to pick up bright objects, and especially articles of the color of gold, and to go up and down that pipe.
“Then he schemed to have your daughter come here. The rest was easy. He waited till she was in the farther room, and then closed the door between by the electrical device.
“Immediately he sent down the parrot. The bird was so well trained that he required only a minute or two to secure something.
“Of course, it was not always something of value. There were probably a dozen failures where the bird brought back nothing or some useless object that glittered.
“I suspected the bird, and so put Chick on that lay. As you see, he has got the creature to work very well.
“Now, colonel, what more can I do for you? What shall be done with the prisoners?”
“Nothing; I will not prosecute.”
“I guess we can hush it up, if you say so,” responded Nick. “By the way, there's one thing that I want to explain. I mean the strange appearance of that diamond pin in the box on the occasion of Mrs. Stevens' first visit.
“It was not the real pin, but a duplicate which had been prepared in advance. Horace had put up that game as a finishing touch for his uncle.
“Mrs. Pond had forced Horace to go for me; but he wouldn't be scared out. He played the game right under my nose.
“Annie O'Neil had the duplicate pin. She opened that box while Mrs. Stevens was calling to her daughter, as she testified, and put the duplicate into it. Then she wrapped it up just as before.”
“So I won't have to give up the jewels,” said Mrs. Pond.
“I am afraid you will,” said Nick; “the queerest part of the story is to come.
“Chick has found a later will by Miss Lavina Richmond. It is undoubtedly genuine.
“And where do you suppose it was found? The strangest of all places—in Horace Richmond's room.”
“She died there,” responded the colonel. “She must have hidden the will during her last illness.”
“It is strange to think of Horace Richmond struggling with that parrot, and putting up his elaborate schemes, while the document which would have given him all he wanted was hidden in his own room.”
Horace Richmond's face at that moment was an amusing spectacle.
So was Mrs. Pond's.
“Never mind, daughter,” said the colonel. “It is better so. I will make good the loss to you.”
And so ends Nick Carter's ghost story in a most natural manner.
Nobody was ever punished for the affair. Even the gang of mediums and heelers whom Nick had rounded up were released after their night in jail, because, on sober second thought, their dupes were ashamed to complain against them.
THE END.
