Nick himself made his way to the Zetler Bank to find Mr. Cary almost in a state of collapse.
A messenger had brought him a letter from the Brown Robin.
It read:
“Dear Papa Cary: Your little present of last night only went a little way. I want more for some expenses I have. You must be at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Twenty-eighth Street this afternoon at five o’clock. Be prompt, now, because there will be some one there to bring you to me. And bring some money. A nice good lot. Don’t fail, if you do——
“The Brown Robin.”
When Nick had read this letter, Mr. Cary handed him a photograph which he said had been brought in but a short time before, carefully wrapped up.
Nick saw that it was one taken by flashlight. It showed a woman sitting on Mr. Cary’s knee, her arms about his neck, his face showing plainly.
Nick thought it was about as compromising a picture as a respectable elderly gentleman of family could be tortured with, and one of which clearly no explanation could be given to offset or contradict the story it told. He studied the woman’s face, or so much as she showed. There was art in the way it was shown, yet concealed.
“Tear it up and burn it,” he said. “You must not have it lying about your desk.”
And while Mr. Cary was engaged in the work of destroying the damaging photograph, Nick was busily thinking.
Finally he asked: