"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.

Nick had a warm place in his heart for one so timid and distressed as this girl appeared, and he bowed very kindly.

"Yes, Miss Page," said he. "What can I do for you? You appear to be in trouble."

"I am in trouble--terrible trouble, sir," cried the girl, with a half-choked sob. "Oh, Mr. Carter, I come to you in despair, a girl without friends or advisers, and who knows not whither to turn. I have been told that you have a kind heart, and that you are the one man able to solve the dreadful mystery which--"

Nick checked her pathetic flood of words with a kindly gesture.

"Calm yourself, Miss Page," said he, in a sort of paternal way. "Resume your chair, please. Though I am somewhat pressed for time just now I will give you at least a few moments."

"Oh, thank you, sir!"

"Be calm, however, in order that we may accomplish all the more."

"I will, sir."

"To what mystery do you refer? What is the occasion of your terrible distress?"

Violet Page subdued her agitation and hastened to reply.

"My maid and companion, a girl named Mary Barton," said she, "was found dead in Central Park late this afternoon. Nor is that all, Detective Carter. A very dear friend of mine, named Harry Boyden, has been arrested, under suspicion of having killed her. Oh, sir, that could not be possible!"

Nick felt an immediate increase of interest.

He decided that Miss Violet Page was the very person he wanted to interview, and while he did not then exhibit any knowledge of the case, he proceeded to question her with his own ends in view, at the same time ringing a signal for Chick to join him, which the latter presently did.

"Where do you live, Miss Page?" inquired Nick.

"I board in Forty-second Street, sir. I have no living relatives, and for about two years have employed a maid, or, I might better call her, a companion."

"The girl mentioned?"

"Yes, sir. Her parents also are dead. The fact that we both are orphans created a bond of sympathy between us."

"Are you a person of much means, Miss Page?"

"Oh, no, sir. I earn my living on the stage. I was a member of the big vaudeville troupe, which lately disbanded for the season. My stage name is Violet Marduke."

"Ah! now I remember," remarked Nick. "I thought I had seen you before. I happened to hear you sing one evening about two weeks ago."

"I recognized her when I entered," observed Chick, who had taken a chair near by.

Nick came back to business.

"Why are you so confident, Miss Page, that Boyden cannot have killed Mary Barton?" he demanded.

"Because, sir, Harry Boyden is a gentle, brave and honest man, and utterly incapable of committing such a crime," cried Violet, with much feeling. "Besides, sir, he can have had no possible reason for wishing her dead."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Absolutely!"

"What are your relations with Boyden?"

"We are lovers, sir," admitted Violet, with a tinge of red dispelling the paleness of her pretty cheeks. "We expect to be married the coming summer."

"Ah! I see," murmured Nick, thoughtfully. "How long have you been acquainted with Boyden?"

"For ten years, sir."

"Then you have been able to form quite a reliable opinion of his character."

"Indeed, sir, I have!" cried Violet, warmly. "Detective Carter, I know that Harry Boyden is far above any dishonorable action. I would trust him with my life."

Of the honesty of the girl herself Nick had not a doubt. It showed in her eyes, sounded in her voice, and was pictured in her ever changing expression. Nick was inclined to feel that her opinion of Boyden was worthy of very serious consideration, despite that circ.u.mstances seemed to implicate the young man in no less than two crimes.

"Is the fact that you are engaged to Boyden generally known, Miss Page?" Nick next asked.

"It is not, sir. We have said nothing about it."

"Ah, that opens the way for conjectures," cried Nick. "Is there any person who knows of the engagement, or who suspects it, that would jealously aim to injure Boyden by implicating him in a crime?"

"Oh, I cannot think so, sir!" said Violet, with a look of horror. "I certainly know of no such person."

"Have you been accepting the attentions of any other young man?"

"No, sir," smiled Violet. "That is not my style."

"I am glad to hear you say so, yet I really might have known it,"

laughed Nick.

"Thank you, Detective Carter," bowed the girl, blushing warmly. Then she hastened to add: "Still, I am not a prude, sir--don't think I mean that.

In my profession one is obliged to be on friendly terms with a great many persons, both men and women. At the theater, for instance, I meet many men and form many acquaintances, both agreeable and the reverse."