It was eleven o’clock when Nick Carter and Patsy entered the extensive business establishment of the leading New York costumer, Monsieur Jules Perrot, in Fifth Avenue. Perrot himself, a suave and polished Frenchman, happened to be conspicuously in evidence and hastened to meet them, bowing and smiling and rubbing his hands.
Nick addressed him quietly and introduced himself, evoking ejaculations and a more intent and interested stare from Perrot, which turned to an expression of gravity when the detective stated his mission.
“I will aid you wiz pleasure, monsieur,” he said readily. “Walk into my office, please, both of you. Ze devil must have been abroad last night, ze wolf in ze lamb’s clothing. Pardieu! your case is not all, Monsieur Carter. There is another.”
“Another, Mr. Perrot?” questioned Nick. “What do you mean?”
“Wait! I will bring my books,” said Perrot, turning to enter an outer office. “I will bring my books—and ze letter!”
“Gee! this looks like something more in the wind,” remarked Patsy.
“I am more inclined to think that all relates to one job,” Nick replied. “It would be strange, indeed, if there were two at just this time and place. We can presently tell.”
Perrot returned while Nick was speaking, bringing a book containing the daily record of his rented costumes, and over his arm—the costume of a Mexican toreador, seen by Nick the previous night, and worn by the man who had slipped the forged note into the hands of Mollie Waldmere.
“H’m! I thought so,” Nick quietly remarked to Patsy, at once recognizing the costume. “There is but one job, in which all of these costumes figure. I will stake my reputation on that.”
“Ziss was returned to me ziss morning by a messenger,” said Perrot, laying the costume on a table. “In ze pocket of ze blouse was found ziss sheet of paper, on which is written—but you shall see. You shall see for yourself, Monsieur Carter.”