All this took so much time, that it was well into the forenoon when the dear lady at last appeared in the lobby of the Hotel Amsterdam, to receive the congratulations by all the other guests on her wonderful rescue by “this dear Colonel Pearson.” The stolen jewelry had all been recovered. At last Nick Carter got away from the lobby and into the elevator, telling the man to take him to the fourth floor. Once there, he hurried to the rooms occupied by the Baroness Latour. He was surprised to see all the doors of the suite wide open, and one of the hotel housemaids busy with broom, dust pan, and other paraphernalia of her business. “Where is the baroness?” demanded Carter hastily. “She went early this morning, sir,” was the reply. “Where has she gone?” “I don’t know. Perhaps they can tell you at the office,” answered the girl. But they could not tell him at the office. All they knew was that the baroness had paid her bill and gone away, with her maid and her trunks, to the railroad station, and that she had taken the nine-thirty-seven west. “H’m!” muttered Nick Carter. “So she has got away from me. Well, it would have been difficult to convict her, even if I had wanted to do it. Her man Kennedy is dead, and I have Jared Spanner a prisoner on what he says is his own yacht. After all, I have cleared up the mystery of the kidnaping of important guests for ransom, and even if I can’t clap Spanner in jail--a point I haven’t settled in my own mind--I think I have pulled his claws.” He walked up and down the lobby several times in deep thought. “After all,” he broke out, at last, half aloud, “I don’t know that my dear baroness has got away from me altogether yet. I still have her yacht, and she is sure to want to come on board sooner or later. I believe I’ll go up to my room and get a few hours’ sleep.” THE END. “The Private Yacht; or, Nick Carter’s Trail of Diamonds,” is the title of the story that you will find in the next issue of this weekly, No. 125, out January 30th. In this story you will read more of the efforts of Nick Carter and his assistants to thwart the designs of this wonderfully clever girl criminal. * * * * * RUBY LIGHT. By BURKE JENKINS. (This interesting story was commenced in No. 120 of NICK CARTER STORIES. Back numbers can always be obtained from your news dealer or the publishers.) CHAPTER XIV. THE FOG LIFTS. “I do like a man like that!” bubbled old Steve delightedly, as he dropped a box of tools at my feet. I found no words in reply, so we two went right at the repairing, and the job was really simple enough. The engine, a four-cylinder affair of the “heavy-duty” type, was bedded between the two masts. This arrangement, of course, necessitated a piercing of the foot of the mainmast for the shaft as it ran aft to the screw.