“I can hardly think that. My cousin would most likely have told me or Phillips, or both of us, if he had intended to be away even for half an hour. Besides, he was lying down when last seen by Phillips.” “Well, at all events, if you can stay here for the remainder of the day, it may help us materially. I still intend to leave here to-night with Marcos for Joyalita, if possible. If not, we will go not later than to-morrow.” “Do you know where Marcos is, then?” “I know where he may be,” answered Nick. “I am going to see.” His touring car was still at the front steps. With a smiling farewell and lifting of his hat to the girl, the detective took his place in the car and directed Maloney to take him home. When Nick Carter told Claudia that he knew where Marcos might be, he was not speaking without reason. Nor was his guess so wild as to be almost uncertainty. True, as he had come to his conclusion by a process of induction only. But it was a process that had served him well at every stage of his career, and he had the faith in it that is based on proven tests. When he reached the porch of Crownledge with Claudia Solado, and glanced around him, his eye lighted on a trifle which his quick brain told him might not be such a trifle, after all. Without the girl observing him, he stopped suddenly and picked up a small cake of mud and grass that evidently had dropped from somebody’s shoe. From the shape of it, Nick knew that it had been wedged into the instep of a rather large shoe which must have belonged to a man. The mass of soil, with half a dozen clipped-off blades of grass embedded in it, had filled all the space in the instep between the heel and the beginning of the sole. When the detective picked it up, he held it carefully in the fingers of his left hand, so that it should preserve its shape until he was ready to examine it at his leisure. He held his hand at his side, and the girl took no notice of it. Until the car reached Madison Avenue, and he had told Danny Maloney, the chauffeur, that he might want him again at night, but that he need not stay any longer then, Nick Carter contented himself with surveying his prize casually as it lay flat on the palm of his hand. No sooner was he locked in his library, however, than he closed the blinds, and, having lighted a cigar, turned his strong incandescent light down upon his table. On a sheet of white paper he laid the mass of mud and grass. It was nearly dry. Therefore, it was possible to handle it without its losing its shape. “I don’t think I can be mistaken,” muttered Nick. “I think I know this wiry grass too well, and this sandy mud is of a kind that is not found in many places hereabouts. However, I’ll look at it through my glass.” He took a very strong magnifying glass from his table drawer and studied the mixture for nearly half a minute. As he put the glass down, a satisfied smile flickered across his strong face.