“Not he.” This was said with a slight show of indignation. “He is far above those fellows; there is not a first-class detective among them.”
Again did the name of Nick Carter tremble on the girl’s lips.
“He was formerly a secret service officer,” continued Louise, “but he retired long ago.”
“I don’t see why he could help to solve the mystery any better than any other detective.”
“I do,” said the visitor; “there is not a low character in the city that his long arm can’t reach, and I will guarantee, if you furnish him with a few thousand dollars to work on, he will return your father within forty-eight hours.”
“I would like to see this man,” said Mignon. “Will you bring him here?”
“No, I don’t think he would come,” replied Louise. “I talked with him about the case; he is a particular friend of mine”—she made a lamentable failure in an endeavor to call up a blush—“and he said to me that he felt certain he knew the gang that did it. I implored him to take a hand in the search for your poor dear father.”
“And he promised to do so?” interjected Miss Field.
“No,” answered Louise, “he said he had given up the business and did not care to do any more detective work. I pleaded with him and finally he said he would think the matter over.”
“But how am I to see him?”