The couple in whose movements Nick Carter had become interested had left the house and were walking quite briskly toward a broad driveway gate in the rear, one entered from the back street and leading to the garage and stable. Both of these were brightly lighted, also, and contained many waiting conveyances, with their liveried chauffeurs, drivers, and footmen.
The Spanish cavalier and woman in starry black paid no attention to others, however, nor appeared to have any occasion for secrecy. They still wore their masks, nevertheless, and they walked briskly out through the rear gate and entered a limousine waiting near by.
The door was closed with a bang and the chauffeur drove quickly away, so quickly that Nick was unable to get a glimpse of his face, or to learn the number of the car.
“They evidently are going home,” Chick remarked, while they paused in the driveway some thirty feet from the gate, which was as near as they had come to overtaking the couple. “The woman may be ill, or overcome with the heat in the house.”
Nick shook his head.
“Nothing of the kind,” he replied. “She walked too briskly for one in that condition.”
“There is something in that,” Chick allowed.
“Furthermore, if they are going home, why did they wear their masks after leaving the house? They either are coming back, or there is something under the surface.”
“A secret love affair, perhaps,” suggested Chick. “They may have stolen out for a brief flirtation, intending to return before the festivities end. I don’t see, Nick, as it’s anything for us to butt into.”
“Not at present, Chick, at all events,” Nick replied. “We’ll return to the house.”