“Who has not?” and Sheldon smiled significantly. “But I do not recall having seen you before. I am glad to meet you.” He certainly spoke as if pleased, but his smile appeared forced and his cheeks were pale. When he extended his hand without rising, moreover, Nick detected that it was trembling slightly and then noted that it felt abnormally cold and clammy. “I am glad to find you here,” he replied, taking a chair near the table. “You were, I am told, a friend of the late Cyrus Darling.” “Yes, in a way,” said Sheldon, settling back in his chair and fixedly eyeing the detective. “In a way?” echoed Nick. “What do you mean by that?” “I mean that I met him only a few times,” Sheldon explained. “I called once at his residence in company with Mr. Floyd, but we did not find him at home.” Nick could not deny that this coincided exactly with what Nancy Nordeck had told him. “I did not know him well,” Sheldon added. “Floyd was much better acquainted with him. What about him, Mr. Carter, that you are seeking information?” “I have been employed to do so.” “By whom?” “His wife.” “For what reason? What is the occasion?” “Have you no idea?” Nick inquired, with sharper scrutiny. “I--not the slightest.” Sheldon quickly shook his head. “I knew nothing about Darling’s personal affairs. I know only that he shot himself, and--ah, here is Floyd, now,” he abruptly digressed. “You are just in time, Phil. Shake hands with Mr. Nicholas Carter, the famous detective. He is after information about Cyrus Darling. You can tell him, perhaps, what he wants to know.” Floyd had entered while Sheldon was speaking, and Nick detected an accent of relief in the latter’s voice. Floyd appeared to be about thirty, a compactly built man, under medium height, clad in a stylish plaid suit and a soft felt hat. He was very dark, his hair thick and curly, his mustache long and drooping, completely hiding his mouth. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, through which he fixed a pair of searching black eyes upon the detective, bowing indifferently and not tendering his hand. “Pleased to know you, Mr. Carter,” he said, sitting directly opposite Nick at the table. “Information about Cyrus Darling, eh? He’s dead. What’s the big idea? What do you want to know about him?” There was a sinister flippancy in this man’s voice and manner that Nick did not fancy. Like Nancy Nordeck, too, he somehow felt that he had seen Philip Floyd before, but he could not even vaguely determine when, or where. Nick did feel positive, however, that Floyd was bent upon putting up a bluff, that he was by far the more nervy man of these two, and that Sheldon was much relieved by his timely arrival. All this presently impelled Nick to venture a counterbluff, which proved more effective than he anticipated. “I want to know anything about him, Mr. Floyd, that you can tell me,” he replied.