"No," continued Nick, "I am ready to take a short rest. The Leonard-Dashwood case is ended. The missing bank-notes are a small matter. Some common thief, a river roustabout, may have robbed the body."
"I don't think so. I have no reason for my belief, so I must have an occult hunch, for I am eaten up with the idea that you are going to hear something regarding those notes before you are many months older."
The telephone rang before Nick could reply to Chick's last remark. The great detective placed the receiver at his ear.
"That you, Nick?"
"Yes, inspector."
"You're wanted in Washington. Come down to the office at once, if you can, and I'll explain."
"All right, inspector. I'll be with you inside of half an hour."
Nick was as good as his word, and, after the usual friendly greetings, the inspector began:
"Jackson Feversham, of Washington, is an old friend of mine, and naturally he first puts himself in communication with me, although he wants you. He wasn't certain that you were in the city, though he might have easily ascertained whether or not you were by wiring your residence. If you were not in town, Chick, Patsy, or Ten-Ichi would have answered. But I see you are impatient. You want me to come to the point. Here it is: A murder, which is shrouded in mystery, has been committed in the national capital; the detectives there are at sea, and the call is for Nick Carter, the man of no failures."
"The Playfair case, isn't it?"