“Don’t trouble,” interrupted the old gentleman, smiling. “I am his uncle. He is expecting me. I will go right in.”
He did not wait for an objection, had any been forthcoming, but opened a near door and walked into an adjoining private office. It was quite large and elaborately furnished. But the only occupant was an attractive, clean-cut man seated at a large, roll-top desk.
“Don’t rise, Welden,” said the old gentleman, after closing the door. “Have a look at my card. It will supply the needed link. Even you are not likely to recognize me.”
Chief Welden, then the head of the United States secret service, glanced at the card the speaker displayed for a moment and then coolly returned to his own pocket.
It bore the name of the celebrated New York detective—Nick Carter.
Chief Welden laughed.
“Gracious!” said he, pointing to a chair with one hand and extending the other. “No, indeed; I would not recognize you. You’re the limit, Nick, when it comes to giving one a surprise. Why did you come in this rig?”
“A summons direct from the nation’s chief executive, Welden, must be occasioned by something of vast importance,” Nick replied, drawing up a chair and cordially shaking hands with the treasury official. “It imposes cor[{4}]responding circumspection upon one of my vocation. I decided to drop in here under cover and learn what is wanted of me.”
“I knew that the president had communicated with you and I was expecting you to show up during the day,” said Chief Welden, more gravely.
“I got the special-delivery letter this morning.”