“You keep away from those two town houses for the next ten days. If you don’t do so, Nate Godard, you later may be run down to police headquarters, in Mulberry Street, to answer to the worst charge in the calendar. So do what I command, or bitter trouble may be yours.”
In his mind’s eye, so pointed were the girl’s remarks, Nate Godard fairly could see the lifeless body of Nick Carter stretched upon the cellar floor of one of the two houses. How Belle Braddon had accomplished it Godard neither knew nor cared. He felt it would be a safe gamble to follow her instructions to the letter.
“By thunder! Belle, I believe you have brought a shift of luck,” he exclaimed, after a moment, with a grim mingling of satisfaction and approval. “On my word, Belle, you are one girl in a million!”
She shrugged her shoulders, then drained her cup of coffee to its dregs.
“Let’s hope so,” she replied. “I have another bit of news for you, too, Nate!”
“What is that?”
“My Dakota chap’s uncle is coming on here to join his nephew.”
“The devil you say!” cried Godard, half rising from his chair.
“It’s no joke, Nate.”
“When is he coming?”