“I’m looking for Mr. Nick Carter,” said he. “My driver says this is where he resides.”
“That is correct,” said Nick.
“Is he at home? I have a letter of introduction to him from——”
“Come in, sir,” Nick interposed. “Walk into my library and take a chair. What can I do for you?”
“Ah!” exclaimed the stranger. “You are Mr. Carter, then?”
“Yes. Be seated.”
Nick had sized up his visitor while speaking. He was a tall man of powerful build and somewhat over fifty. He was smooth shaved, with strong features, quite an aggressive expression, and searching gray eyes. His mouth was broad, his lips thin, his chin square, and determined.
It was a face that did not impress Nick favorably. It evinced characteristics that were not pleasing to the keen insight of the detective. The stranger was well dressed, however, in a plaid suit and voluminous frieze overcoat, both of pronounced English cut and pattern.
“I am glad I find you at home, Mr. Carter,” he said, in sonorous tones, taking a chair near that of the detective and producing a letter from his breast pocket. “Here is the introduction I mentioned. You are acquainted with Captain Phil Grady, of Scotland Yard, who is also a personal friend of mine. He is the writer and he advised me to see you.”
Nick felt some of his misgivings beginning to melt away. He glanced through the letter, introducing one Sir Edward Chadwick, of London, and he then smiled and shook hands with the Englishman.