So they returned to New York City.
At the first opportunity, Nick left them and hastened to the St. James Hotel.
It was nearly eleven o’clock when he sent up his card to Miss Templin’s room.
The boy returned with the information that the lady was not in.
“I might have told you that much before your card was sent up,” exclaimed the clerk, “had not something else been on my mind at the time. Miss Templin has not been at the hotel since last night.”
“Not been here since last night!” repeated Nick, in surprise. “Why, where did she go?”
“Excuse me, sir, but if I knew, I think I should not have the right to answer for her whereabouts to everybody who called, unless I was sure the inquisitor had a right to receive the information,” replied the clerk.
“You are quite right,” assented Nick. “When I tell you who I am, I believe you will not hesitate to give me what information I need.”
The clerk looked at the card Nick had sent up.
“Carter,” he said, as he read the name written thereon. “You are Mr. Carter.”