They did so without further comment upon the circumstances, and they separated again after rejoining the throng in the house.
Nearly two hours later, or considerably after midnight, Nick Carter felt a hand on his arm and heard the subdued voice of Mr. Horace Carrington, the host, a portly man in the fifties, then wearing an elaborate courtier’s costume.
“I want you for a few moments, Carter,” he said quietly. “Come with me.”
“Anything wrong?” questioned Nick, noting his gravity.
“I fear so,” said Carrington. “A lady, one of my guests, wants to talk with you. She is waiting in my private library. This way.”
Nick followed him with further questions and entered the room, where the lady at once arose to meet him.
She was a woman in starry black—the duplicate Night.
She no longer wore a mask, however, and Nick found himself face to face with an old acquaintance, one for whom he already had done double service. She was none other than the whilom beautiful chorus girl for love of whom Lord Archie Waldmere had sacrificed his heritage and English birthrights and become estranged from home and family—now Lady Mollie Waldmere.
“Good gracious!” Nick quietly exclaimed. “Is it you, Mrs. Waldmere? What has happened?”
She extended a trembling hand and gazed at him with apprehensive and glistening eyes.