He made a profile; he made a full view drawing; he made a three-quarters. He drew a picture of her standing; another sketch represented her in the saddle, as he had first seen her. Still another showed her seated in the low rocker in the sitting room where she had talked with him only a few moments. In all he made eight sketches of Juno, for it was an art which his father had compelled him to acquire when he was learning to be a detective—to draw with great accuracy from memory. When he had finished them and raised them before his eyes for his own inspection he nodded his head, well satisfied with the result he had achieved. He had eight fairly good likenesses of Juno to work with. CHAPTER XVIII. A DANGEROUS WOMAN. “Without a doubt,” said the chief of the secret police of Paris, taking the several drawings from the desk in front of him and examining them one by one. They were greatly improved since that night when Nick Carter made them in the room he was occupying at Kingsgift, in Virginia. With those original sketches as guides he had made on the way across the ocean, several finished drawings of Juno, and these were what he now exhibited to the chief. Two weeks, lacking one day, had passed since then, and Nick was in Paris. He had already visited London and Scotland Yard, where no information was obtainable—that is, such information as he sought; but he had determined to visit every capital in Europe before he returned to the United States. The detective was convinced—as he had been convinced all along—that Juno had a history somewhere in Europe, and that if he searched for it he would find it. He had arrived that morning in Paris and had lost no time in presenting himself to the chief of the secret police, who was an old acquaintance. As soon as he was received in the private office of that great man, he had said: “Chief”—we use a free translation of all that passed between them—“I have here a few drawings, made by myself, of a woman whom I wish to identify. I think it more than likely that you will know her. Will you look at them?” “Assuredly.” Then the detective had passed out one of the drawings, putting it face upward on the desk in front of the chief; and the latter had exclaimed at once: “‘The Leopard!’ Of course it is ‘The Leopard.’” And then he had added as we have noted it down here. “Without a doubt.” Nick Carter raised his brows, interrogatively. “‘The Leopard?’” he repeated questioningly. “Yes. That is the name by which she is best known, Carter. She had a different name for use in each one of the capitals of Europe, but ‘The Leopard’ is the one by which she is best known, and more generally recognized. I had been wondering what had become of her.” “So you know all about her, chief?” “All about her? No, indeed; very little about her, as a matter of fact—and a very great deal about her, too.” “Isn’t that statement of yours rather ambiguous?”