“In other words, Mr. Carter, I supposed that Cyrus Darling was going to marry me, and that I should roll in wealth for the rest of my life. Imagine my chagrin, dismay, and disappointment, therefore, when I learned that he had killed himself--and that a wife was mourning his tragic end. Perdition! I could have cut off my two ears for having listened to his treacherous love avowals.” Nick Carter now saw plainly that this woman had no intention of bolting, that she had taken a position she felt sure she could maintain, and that she was not to be easily frightened or intimidated. All this appeared in her darkly glowing eyes, her look of covert contempt and defiance, and in the utter lack of anything like apprehension on her part. Nick gazed at her intently for a moment, then asked bluntly: “Do you expect me to believe, Miss Crandall, that you did not know Darling was married?” “I don’t care whether you believe it, Mr. Carter, or not,” she deliberately answered, meeting him eye to eye while she lighted a cigarette. “What is that to me? The fact is not altered by what you believe.” “It is a fact, then?” “Yes, positively.” “You are acquainted with Ralph Sheldon, aren’t you?” “I am.” “And Philip Floyd?” “Yes.” “Are they friends of yours?” “I think so,” Kate coolly nodded. “I have no reason to doubt it.” “Why, then, did they not tell you that Darling was a married man?” Nick demanded. “They knew it.” “And they supposed that I knew it,” Kate curtly explained. “They had no idea that I was ignorant of it. They saw me with Darling only occasionally, and they attributed no special significance to it.” “No?” “Why should they?” she added, a bit sharply. “Why should they meddle with my affairs? I wonder at your presuming to do so--though I know, of course, that yours is a meddlesome business and you a prince of meddlers. What’s it all about? What’s the answer? What are you driving at, anyway?” “You will learn in time,” Nick informed her. “If what you imply is true, then, you were not used quite right by Darling.” “No--quite the contrary.” “Why have you still an interest in his affairs, then?” “In his affairs?” “That’s what I said.” “Nonsense! I have no such interest,” Kate declared, with a stony stare. “I have wiped his name off my slate.” “Who is your friend, then, who has such an interest?” “My friend?” “Yes.” “I don’t understand you,” snapped Kate. “Come across plainly, Mr. Carter, if you wish me to continue this interview. I’ll not stand for any beating around a bush. What friend of mine do you mean?” “The man you talked with on the street a short time ago,” Nick said bluntly. “The man who told you he had seen my touring car at the Darling residence this afternoon.” Kate Crandall’s eyes dilated perceptibly under her knitted brows. The shot was evidently not expected, but it did not appear to disturb her seriously. She tossed away her cigarette, nevertheless, asking, a bit resentfully: