He was apparently about fifty years old; a well-dressed, prosperous-looking man, who might be a merchant, or a lawyer, or a banker.
Nick did no guessing. The man might be anything else. He had given his name as George Snell, but he had not sent in his card, and he had not said where he belonged.
Word had simply been taken to Nick by a servant that a Mr. George Snell wanted to see him on “most important business.”
“He isn’t an American,” was Nick’s only conclusion from what had been said thus far. “An American would not have spoken simply of ‘the States,’ as he did.”
There had been a pause after the caller’s last remarks.
“Well,” he exclaimed then, “I’m not coming more than two-thirds of the way across the continent for nothing. I set out to consult you, and I will do so.”
“That’s better,” said the detective; and, willing to help him tell his story, he asked: “What kind of a case is it, Mr. Snell?”
“I suppose you’d call it kidnaping; but there’s robbery combined with it, and—and also—also blackmail.”
Mr. Snell hesitated and stammered a little at the end of this speech.