“You know it? How the deuce can you know it? You don’t know to what restriction I refer.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” Nick laughed again. “Though not a lover, I know how lovers feel. You itch to relieve Miss Thurlow’s anxiety by telling her of our relations.”
“By Jove, you’re a keen cuss, Carter!” Paulding declared, now joining in the detective’s laugh. “You’ve called the turn, all right, but itch doesn’t express it. Really, I ache to do so.”
“Well, stop aching,” Nick said dryly, rising to go. “I shall see Miss Thurlow this evening, and will tell her all that she needs to know.”
“See her!” Paulding sprang up, eyes glowing. “Oh, I say, then——”
“No, no, don’t say it,” the detective cut in with affected alarm. “I’ll not take any love messages to her. I draw the line at that. I have passed that stage, you know, and would only make an awful mess of it, to say nothing of making a fool of myself. I will tell her enough, Paulding, however; so rest easy with that until I can see you again.”
Nick left him with a much lighter heart than when he had entered, which was what he chiefly desired, but his mission to the Thurlow residence was of greater importance.
It was nine o’clock when he arrived at the house, one of the most costly and beautiful dwellings in Madison. He was admitted by an elderly butler, who invited him to a seat in a handsomely furnished reception room.
Nick had given him a card on which he had written only his first name, stating that he called on important business, and he had been waiting only a few moments when a graceful, strikingly pretty girl in an evening gown joined him, still with the card in her hand.
“Good evening,” she said agreeably, with an inquiring look in her blue eyes. “I am Miss Thurlow, Mr. Nicholas, but I infer that your business is with my mother. She has gone up to her room, but I have sent for her to come down. Your name does not suggest any business which——”