“All that you will tell me, Mr. Floyd, is what you mean,” Nick said pointedly. “You should have learned, nevertheless, that reticence is equivalent to----” “Stop a moment,” Floyd interrupted, with lips curling. “What’s the big idea? What’s it all about? Do you suspect the loan company of anything wrong?” “Frankly, Mr. Floyd, I do,” Nick nodded. “Of what?” “Of having abducted, or caused to be abducted, a woman known as Mrs. Archie Waldron. Did you ever hear of her?” “Never! Permit me to add, Carter, that I never heard of anything more absurd.” “Than what?” questioned Nick, still sharply regarding him. “Such a suspicion,” snapped Floyd, his eyes dilating. “What earthly motive could they have for abducting a woman, or for any other breach of the law? Both are married and have families. Both are men of eminent respectability, of sterling integrity, and they manage a very profitable business. What earthly incentive could they have for committing crime? That’s absurd, utterly improbable. You detectives go over the traces much too often, Carter, in your still-hunts after victims. You are worse in a way than the crooks, for you smirch the reputation of honorable men, while crooks get only their purses. Good morning, sir. That is all I have to say.” Floyd apparently had worked himself up to a state of righteous indignation, and none could better feign any sentiment he chose. He drew himself up and turned to go, but Nick detained him with a gesture. “One moment,” he replied. “You have said considerable, Floyd, for one who knew nothing about the Imperial Loan Company. I should be blind, indeed, if I did not see that. You extol them in order to divert my suspicions. But the fact that you think it is necessary to do so proves quite conclusively, not only that you know much more than you have stated, but also that my suspicions are correct. I could logically go even a step further, Floyd, and suspect you of being in their game.” Floyd’s thin red lips parted scornfully, revealing a double row of sharp white teeth. It gave him for a moment the vicious expression of a dog about to bite. Instead, he vented a cold and mirthless laugh, as cold and mirthless as the ring from rapiers crossed in mortal combat. “You go to thunder, Carter,” said he, sneering contemptuously. “I would not lower myself by even denying your slanderous insinuations. In their game, or in any game--bah! You disgust me! Go to thunder!” And Mr. Stuart Floyd, with the air and aspect of one who felt that he had squelched the famous detective, turned on his heel and entered the hotel office. Nick Carter smiled and passed into the barroom. “That will keep you going, all right,” he said to himself. “That’s all I want of you. I’ll get you hands down at the finish.” CHAPTER VIII. HOW NICK MADE GOOD.