Every one was silent; then the voice of Duryea:
“Little goose! She wasn’t carried away. She ran away.”
“But why? Why?”
“My dear, there could be only one reason. Carter was right behind her. She had to escape, or get caught, and she took the former course. I caught a glimpse of her as she ran through the rear doorway, and apparently jumped into a motor car. That must have been held there by an accomplice who was waiting to take away the spoils; the swag, I believe they call it? Eh? Carter? You’re a detective. You ought to know.”
Every eye in the room was turned upon Nick Carter then.
The situation was a clever one, adroitly arranged by Jimmy Duryea.
Nick met their looks calmly, and he replied quietly:
“I ran after a person, but it was not a woman. It was not Miss Nightingale. Of that, I am certain.”
“Oh, come, Carter, what’s the use of all that?” exclaimed Duryea. “I saw her, too. She wore some sort of a red wrapper, and an automobile veil, and——”
“And trousers under the wrapper, and a mustache under the veil,” the detective interrupted him.