“Indeed?” remarked Nick Carter carelessly. “She’s a very charming young lady. We were playing golf together this morning, as I told you. Now, let me have a look at this room door.” Turning the key, he swung the door open a few inches. “You’d better stand outside, Mr. Mallory,” he suggested. “If anybody comes along and seems curious, you can say that I am repairing the lock. Tell them that Colonel Pearson makes a hobby of this sort of thing. I’ll keep out of sight as much as possible, however.” Nick pushed the door nearly shut, and kneeling inside the room, he drew out the key and inspected it closely through his magnifying glass. Then he examined the bolt and keyhole, and kept at it for ten minutes. “Come in, Mr. Mallory,” he requested, through the narrow opening between the door and the jamb. “I’m through with the door for the present.” To the surprise of both partners, he dropped to his knees, and, with the aid of his glass, began to go over the carpet in a series of imaginary squares, just as he had done at the window. It was half an hour before he had finished this task. By that time he was under an electric light which hung near the bed, for the convenience of guests who might like to read after retiring. A gas jet protruded from the wall near it. Here Nick picked up the burned end of a wax match. He seemed to attach some importance to this trifle, for he arose to his feet with the fragment of match in his hand and asked the partners: “What kind of matches do you provide in this hotel?” “Why--er--just the ordinary wood safety matches, with the name of the hotel on the box. They are put in every room, for the use of smokers, and also to light the gas when a guest does not want to use the electric light. Some people like a lowered gas jet in the room all night, you know.” “Do you use wax matches at all?” Mallory shook his head and turned to Savage, who, as already remarked, was the detail man of the concern. “Have we any of those matches, Savage?” “None in the house, that I know of,” was the short reply. “Have you found out anything, Mr. Carter?” “Nothing that I can report, Mr. Savage,” Nick answered. “It is too early to say one thing or another yet. I will say, however, that, in my opinion, the person responsible for the vanishing of Mrs. van Dietrich is living in the hotel.” “A servant?” asked Mallory anxiously. “That remains to be seen,” returned the detective, with a shrug. “It is also certain that there are accomplices on the outside. I will go to my room and think things over. After luncheon I will go into the case further. If anything comes to your knowledge that seems likely to be useful, you will find me in my room. Keep up your nerve, gentlemen, and, above all things, keep your own counsel. Strict secrecy, remember.”