“If she saw the person I think she saw in the audience last night,” Nick replied, “it’s ten to one that the remorse is on the other side--or ought to be. If I am mistaken, a very few sentences will prove it, and I give you my word that I shall do my best to quiet any fears my presence may have aroused, and withdraw at once. On the other hand, if I am right, I can convince her that I am her friend, and that I know enough to make it worth her while to shift as much of her burden as possible to me. If she consents, the tension will be removed at once, and she will be on the road to recovery. And, incidentally, I shall have gained some very important information.” The detective was prepared, if necessary, to be more explicit with Doctor Lightfoot; but the latter, after looking Nick over thoughtfully for a few moments, gave his consent. “I’ve always understood that you always know what you are about, Carter,” he said. “There is nothing of the blunderer or the brute about you, as there is about almost all detectives. On the contrary, I am sure you are capable of using a great deal of tact, aside from your warm sympathies. My colleague isn’t here now, and I am taking a great responsibility on my shoulders in giving you permission to see Miss Lund alone at such a time. She is a great actress, remember, and, if it is possible, we must give her back to the world with all of her splendid powers unimpaired. She is like a musical instrument of incredible delicacy, so, for Heaven’s sake, don’t handle her as if she were a hurdy-gurdy!” “Trust me,” the famous detective said quietly. “Then wait,” was the reply, and the physician hurried from the room. Two or three minutes later he returned. “Come,” he said. “I have prepared her--told her you are a specialist in psychology, which is true, of course, in one sense. You can tell her the truth later, if all goes well.” CHAPTER III. THE ACTRESS CONFIDES. Nick was led through a couple of sumptuously furnished rooms into the great Swedish actress’ presence. Helga Lund was a magnificently proportioned woman, well above medium height, and about thirty years of age. She wore a loose, filmy negligee of silk and lace, and its pale blue was singularly becoming to her fair skin and golden hair. Two thick, heavy ropes of the latter hung down far below her waist. She was not merely pretty, but something infinitely better--she had the rugged statuesque beauty of a goddess in face and form. She was pacing the floor like a caged lioness when Nick entered. Her head was thrown back and her hands were clasped across her forehead, allowing the full sleeves to fall away from her perfectly formed, milk-white arms. “Miss Lund, this is Mr. Carter, of whom I spoke,” Doctor Lightfoot said gently. “He believes he can help you. “I shall leave you with him, but I will be within call.” He withdrew softly and closed the door. They were alone.