“Yes. Nick Carter.”
“What!” cried the clerk; “Nick Carter, the detective?”
“That is I,” smiled Nick.
“Well, you beat the dickens in disguising yourself so your best friends don’t know you,” muttered the clerk.
“It’s part of my business,” Nick explained.
“Working for Miss Templin?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s something queer about her disappearance. By the way, here’s a telegram came for her to-day.”
Without so much as saying “by your leave,” Nick tore off the envelope and read the message.
It was, as he expected, from San Francisco, and merely read: