This was the greeting of the girl who had been waiting as Nick opened the door of his library. It was the “Queen of Night,” whom he had met at the ball at the Hotel Supremacy, and in whose company he had had so queer an adventure. He bowed and pointed to the chair from which she had arisen. “Sit down, and we’ll talk it over, whatever it is,” he answered, with a smile. “I hope you are not in any trouble.” “I am very much perplexed about something, and I feel that if something is not done quickly, there may be a tragedy that I ought to prevent.” This was all mysterious enough to make Nick Carter glance inquiringly at his fair visitor. She was dressed in the plain but expensive garments of a wealthy woman, and everything about her appearance, as well as her speech, proclaimed one who had always been used to the refinements of life. There was a slight foreign tinge to her accent, but her English was flawless in its choice of words, as well as in the pronunciation. “You did not ask my name when you met me at the Hotel Supremacy on the night of the ball, notwithstanding that you gave me protection when it was much needed.” “Unless you volunteered the information, I could hardly ask for it,” smiled the detective. “I am Claudia Solado, and----” “Solado was the name of one of the Indian princes whom I found myself treating rather roughly, I am afraid, and----” “You did right,” she interrupted. “Don Solado is my--my uncle. I am sorry to say that he is a scoundrel.” She made this statement coolly, as if it were an incontrovertible fact, although regrettable. “If I had known he was a relative of yours, I might have been a little more gentle, nevertheless,” declared Nick. “I am glad you were not. He cares nothing for anybody else, and he would sacrifice anybody or anything to further his own schemes. But I need not trouble you about that. What is worrying me is that I am afraid the enemies of Prince Marcos----” “The person you think I resemble?” asked Nick, with a smile. “The same,” she answered. “You are very much alike. You will see it yourself if ever you meet Marcos. I know he was all right on the night of the ball.” “Afterward or before?” asked the detective. “Afterward. I went to his home and saw him in the taxicab you were kind enough to get for me.” “Yes?” “I did not give the cabman the address at the time, because I did not know who might be standing around the hotel to overhear me. So I directed the man to take me to Riverside Drive. Afterward I gave him the prince’s New York address. It is a house called Crownledge. It looks over the Hudson and faces the Palisades.” “I know the place,” remarked Nick. “Stands in its own rather extensive grounds, and runs right down to the river bank.” “That describes it,” she smiled. “About Marcos, I was going to say that, although he is strikingly like you in the face, he is not so strong, nor so--so----” “Impetuous?” laughed Nick Carter. “I’m afraid I did seem so that night. But----”