“It’s the second crime,” was all the remark he made to himself.
The detective sent word to police headquarters, and as the crime, like the murder of Mother Flintstone, came too late for the morning papers, the afternoon journals got it.
No one knew among the reporters that Jack Redmond had been Carter’s spy.
None was told who was meant by “the master” in the sentence on the wall; they only guessed at that, and some queer guesses they made, too.
Carter found Margie Marne that same day, and the girl’s first question was about his trail.
“I’ve got a strange letter here,” said the girl, handing the detective a note she had just received.
The detective drew it from the envelope and read as follows:
“Miss Marne: If you want to hear of something to your advantage please come to the Trocadero to-day at two and enter the first stall on the right. Come alone, for this is business of importance, and greatly concerns you.
“Business.”
After reading the message the detective looked up and found the eyes of the girl riveted upon his face.