Nick drew out his watch and glanced quickly at it.

"Ring for a carriage, Chick," said he abruptly. "We have no time to lose."

"I'll call one at once," nodded Chick, as he sprang up and hastened from the room.

"Am I to depart now, Detective Carter?" asked Violet, beginning to tremble. "Oh, sir, will you not give me some word of encouragement before I go? I am sure that Harry Boyden never committed--"

"Hush!" interposed Nick, rising and taking her kindly by the hand.

"I cannot at present tell you, Miss Page, what I think of this case. I will say this, however, if Harry Boyden is, as you so firmly believe, innocent of this crime, I will not rest until I have proved him guiltless."

"Oh, Detective Carter, how am I to thank you?" cried the girl, with her tearful eyes raised to Nick's kindly face.

"By not trying to do so," said he, smiling. "And by carefully following a few directions which I shall now give you."

"I will follow them to the very letter, sir," cried the grateful girl.

"First, then, go home and borrow no further trouble about young Boyden,"

said Nick, impressively. "Second, disclose to no person that you have called upon me, or that I have any interest in the case. Third, say nothing about the jewel casket, and display no personal knowledge of the affair. Fourth, do not come here again unless I send for you. And, finally, rest a.s.sured that I will do all in my power to have young Boyden at liberty as soon as possible. To remain in custody a short time, however, will not seriously harm him, and in a way it may do me some service. Can you remember all that?"

"Indeed I can, sir; and I will obey you in all!" cried Violet, with much feeling.

"That's right," smiled Nick, as he escorted her to the door. "You shall not lose anything by so doing."

"Ah, I am sure of that, sir. You are so very kind, and I am so glad that I came to you."

"Well, well, we shall see," laughed Nick, with a paternal caress of her shapely white hand. "By the way, Miss Page, since I now happen to think of it," the crafty detective indifferently added, "wasn't there a Hindoo juggler, or snake charmer, or something of that sort, connected with your late vaudeville company?"

"Oh, yes, sir! Pandu Singe."

"Ah, that is his name, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he still in the city?"

"I am not sure, Mr. Carter; but I think that he may be, for he is signed with the company for next season."

"Do you know where he has been living?"

"Yes, sir. I have seen his house address on letters forwarded to the theater. Do you want it, sir?"

"If you can recall it, yes," smiled Nick, producing his notebook. "I am making a study of the Hindoo language just at this time, and I would like to consult Pandu Singe about certain books on the subject."

Miss Page did not suspect any duplicity in this, and she cheerfully gave Nick the address of the snake charmer, whereupon the detective graciously thanked her, and then escorted her to her waiting carriage.

As it rolled rapidly away a second hack came bowling up to the curbstone in front of Nick's residence. It was the carriage for which Chick had sent a call.

"Don't cover your horses, cabbie!" cried Nick, sharply. "Wait about three minutes, and we'll be with you."

"Right, sir!"

And Nick dashed back up the steps and into the house, meeting Chick in the hall.

"What do you make of it, Nick?"

"Make of it?" cried Nick, with a laugh. "It's a cinch, Chick, dead open and shut. Grab your hat and come with me. I'll explain in the carriage."

"Good enough! I'm with you, old man!"

"And we have no time to lose," cried Nick, "Now, then, we're off."

CHAPTER XI.

THE CRIME AND THE MEANS.

"Yes, Chick, it's as simple as two plus two, and we'll presently try to bag a part of our quarry. But first of all, I want a bit of corroborative evidence which I expect to get from that Hindoo snake charmer, Pandu Singe."

"Going there first, Nick?"

"Yes; it will not take long. Then I think we shall have the strands for a rope strong enough to hold that she-devil who murdered Mary Barton,"

grimly added Nick.

These remarks were made while the carriage containing the two detectives was speeding through the city streets, then bright with the light and life of the early evening.

"What a dastardly crime it was, Nick," observed Chick.

"It was the crime of a treacherous demon."

"With jealousy the chief motive, eh?"

"No doubt of it."

"Yet her venomous arrow found the wrong mark."

"That's just the size of it," said Nick. "In the light of what you saw and heard on the stage that night, it is plain that Cervera is pa.s.sionately in love with Venner."

"Surely."

"You remember that you saw him talking with Violet Page, and then observed Cervera in the opposite wings, angrily watching something or somebody out of your range of view. Plainly enough, now, she was watching Venner and the singer."

"No doubt of it," declared Chick. "And she looked fit to use a poniard then and there."

"Jealousy," growled Nick. "She had been secretly watching Venner. She had discovered his love for Violet, and decided that the girl was a rival to be feared. Her fiery Spanish blood would shrink at nothing. She went the limit, and tried to murder her rival. In so doing, however, she but killed another."