“Dear me, no!”
“Be silent, then, and discreet. Here is a card with my address and telephone number. Is there a telephone in this house?”
“There is, sir,” Waldmere nodded.
“If your wife returns before morning, then, call up my office and inform whomever answers you,” Nick directed. “That would probably end the matter. If she does not return, however, which now seems more probable, you may expect me here at half past eight to-morrow morning. I then will begin a thorough investigation. In other words, Lord Waldmere, I’m going at this like a bull at a gate.”
The last was added chiefly to encourage the down-hearted Englishman, who, strange to say, appeared to detect it. For he pulled himself together with a manly effort, then adjusted his monocle to gaze more intently at the detective, whose hand he warmly grasped with both of his.
“’Pon my honor, old top, I can’t find words to thank you,” he said gratefully. “I really can’t, don’t you know.”
“Don’t try, Lord Waldmere,” Nick replied, pressing his hand. “Merely do only what I have directed. Keep a stiff upper lip and leave this matter to me. I’ll call the turn, all right, as sure as you’re a foot high.”
CHAPTER III.
HOW NICK SIZED IT UP.
Nick Carter came out from dinner in his Madison Avenue residence after eight o’clock, two hours later than usual. Instead of going to his business office, he entered his private library, saying to Joseph, his butler, as he passed him in the deep, attractively furnished hall:
“Send Chick and Patsy to me. They’re in the office.”