"What name did he give?"
"Peter Mannion."
"Were you prepossessed in his favor?"
"Very much so. He was, or appeared to be, a perfect gentleman."
That evening Nick was in Washington. After a long talk with Chick, he retired to pass a restless night. The next morning Chick left the city, taking the Baltimore train, but getting off at Beltzville. Patsy, by another route, left Washington in the afternoon.
A few days afterward, while Nick was at Prosper Craven's house, at which he had been a constant visitor, a tall, handsome, elderly man was ushered in by Nellie Mannion, who, the day before, had risen from a sickbed.
"Father," said she, "this is the uncle of Arthur. He lives near Baltimore, and has come to see me."
Nick Carter did not remain in the house but a few moments after the uncle's arrival. Excusing himself, he went out to give utterance to a soft whistle.
The uncle bore no resemblance to Arthur Mannion outside of his eyes. There was some similarity in shape, position, and expression. But Mannion's hair was black. This man's was light-brown. Mannion had full, red lips. This man's were thin and bloodless. Mannion had a sharp nose; this man's was broad and full. This man's voice was heavy and harsh. Mannion's was a light, musical one. There were other points of dissimilarity, but still the relationship might exist. Nick noticed that the uncle wore no sleeve to hide the loss of his arm. From appearances, the arm had been amputated at the shoulder-joint. "And yet, and yet," muttered the detective, under his breath, but without going further.
Chick returned three days later.