“Every man to his taste. Your character is one in a thousand, Joe. As for me I confess I have more of the tiger about me, and if a man or woman foully wrongs me I look forward with pleasure to revenge.” “Don’t let us talk about it—the worst I would do to her would be to seek a separation—but for him,” and his face grew grandly dark and gloomy, but he did not finish. “I wish to ask you a few questions about your home, Joe.” “Do so.” “In the first place you have a girl.” “Yes, two of them.” “What positions do they occupy?” “One is in the kitchen—the other a sort of upstairs girl, to take care of the rooms, answer the door, and wait upon the table.” “Describe the cook.” Joe laughed. “She is as fat as she is long, almost, and as good-natured as she is fat.” Eric made a gesture. “That point is settled. Now the other.” “Nanny is a woman too, but much smaller, and ladylike in her ways. She came here from Chicago with us.” “Ah! a favorite of your wife’s?” “Yes. Nanny was in her mother’s employ as a girl. She is faithful to us.” “Ahem! Just the person, in fact, to be entrusted with a message of a secret nature, that must be handed to a certain party?” At this Joe turned red and white by turns. “I presume so,” he admitted, uneasily. “Is Nanny about my height, rather slim, and quick in her actions?” “Yes.” “Dresses in black?” “My soul! man, you seem to drive the nails into my coffin with each question.” “Answer, Joe.” “She does dress in black—most maids do in New York now.” “Wear a white apron?” “No,” with a gleam of hope. “Neither did this girl. I knew she was a maid by the courtesy she made when handing Prescott the letter, and also from the little white cap she wore.” Poor Joe’s last chance seemed gone—the other had knocked away the pins upon which his house was built. “That was probably Nanny, but I can not and will not believe Lillian wrote that note. Some other party had hired Nanny to give it to that man.” Darrell knew Joe was hugging a phantom to his heart, but he could not take pleasure in arguing with the deceived husband—besides, Joe’s actions proved that he believed more than he would admit either to himself or his confidential adviser, and if the blow did come it would not be such a terrible shock as if he had received no warning. The end was not far away. CHAPTER XVI THE LOCKED SARATOGA The detective was not yet through. He wished to find out a few other things connected with the case, through information which Joe alone could give. When the latter had told his story concerning what had happened at his house on the preceding night, he had touched lightly on the incident of the closet. The keen detective had however made a mental note of the circumstance, and he was bound to know more of the matter. “What sort of a closet is it?” he asked. “Quite a roomy affair.” “You keep what there?” “A number of odds and ends, and I believe a large Saratoga trunk.” “Ah! your wife’s?”