CHAPTER VII.
A BLOW FROM BEHIND.
Nick Carter did not hurry to arrive at the suburban residence of Mr. John Madison. He hardly expected, in fact, to find him at home before early evening; but he wanted to see him when he did arrive.
It was close upon six o’clock when Nick entered a gate leading into the extensive side grounds, and dusk then had deepened into darkness.
Only a single light was to be seen in the imposing wooden dwelling, and that shone out faintly through the glass walls of a large conservatory attached to the house. It came from a window beyond the projecting hothouse.
“That don’t look as if many of the family are at home,” thought Nick, stepping lightly over the gravel walk that wound between the trees of a park and led to a side door of the house.
“It may be that only his wife and children are here, though servants are essential to—humph!” Nick abruptly digressed. “It is barely possible that he has sent them away, servants and all, if he really is engaged in the knavery I suspect. Discretion certainly would impel some such step.”
Nick turned the corner of the conservatory, then saw a brighter beam of light from under the lowered shade of a library window. He crept near enough to peer into the room.
There was only one occupant—the man the detective was seeking.
Mr. John Madison was seated at a flat, cloth-topped desk in the middle of the spacious room. It was covered with pamphlets, documents, and writing materials. A tall library lamp with a pale-green silk shade stood near by. Its rays lent an unnatural hue to the man’s face, a sort of ghastly, greenish pallor seen neither in life nor death.
He was a powerful, imposing man, with broad shoulders and a large head. He was smoothly shaved, with strong, aggressive features, a square jaw, and thin lips, heavy brows, and a mop of black hair.