While Nick was thus expressing his views, a rapidly driven carriage approached the residence of the famous detective, and a servant presently entered the dining room and informed Nick that a lady wished to see him.
Nick glanced at her card.
"Violet Page," he muttered. "I know no lady named Violet Page. Is she young or old?"
"Young, sir."
"Did you admit her?"
"She is in the library, sir."
"Very well. I will see her presently. Request her to wait a few moments."
Nick delayed only to finish his dinner, then repaired to the library. As he entered the attractively furnished room his visitor quickly arose from one of the easy-chairs and hastened to approach him.
Nick beheld a young lady of exquisite beauty and modest bearing, and though her sweet face, then very pale and distressed, struck him as one he had previously seen, he at first could not place her.
"Are you Mr. Carter—Detective Carter?" she hurriedly, inquired, in tremulous accents of appeal.