CHAPTER VIII.
NICK WALKS INTO A NET.
It was half past eight that evening when Nick Carter, returning from his interview with Mrs. Clayton, arrived at his Madison Avenue residence.
A taxicab was waiting at the curbing in front of the house, and Nick was momentarily surprised when he entered his library. Its only occupant was the visitor who had come in the taxi.
“Why, good evening, Clayton,” he said genially. “I was not expecting a call from you so quickly. I am pleased to see you, all the same.”
One thought that had instantly arisen in Nick’s mind, however, in view of his talk with Mrs. Clayton, was not reflected in his face. The thought was:
“Which one is this? Chester Clayton—or his crook double?”
Clayton, as he certainly appeared to be, replied without hesitation, without any observably intent scrutiny of the detective’s face.
“I have a reason for calling, Nick,” said he. “Your butler told me that you would probably return during the evening, so I requested the privilege of waiting here.”
“Quite right, Clayton, I’m sure.”
“He could not tell me, however, where you had gone,” Clayton added, in a way covertly inviting the detective to do so.