“Only his lawyer.” “I infer from the newspaper story that Carney is a bad egg,” said Nick. “Am I right?” “He’s a bad egg in a small way,” Hardy nodded. “He is somewhat of a ruffian and has twice been convicted of stealing. But he is not what I consider a dangerous crook. He has no great ability.” “He may have been associated with some one who has,” said Nick suggestively. “I cannot say about that,” was the reply. “I lately have heard very little about Carney until this affair came off.” “Have you the disguise found on the scene of the assault?” “Yes.” “May I see it?” “Certainly.” Captain Hardy arose to bring it from the outer office. Nick also arose and accompanied him as far as the door. When it swung open and Hardy went out, a man was passing through the outside office on his way to the street. He was well built, well dressed, a man apparently about forty years of age. He was smooth shaved, with strong features, evincing mental power, nerve force, and bulldog tenacity. He was a man at whom one would turn for a second glance, as if impelled by some subtle magnetic emanation from the other. Nick Carter saw him, and he saw Nick. Their gaze met suddenly and lingered for a moment, but the face of neither changed by so much as a shadow. Nick knew this man, but he instantly suppressed any sign of recognition. If the other knew Nick, or apprehended recognition, he had equal command of his feelings. Even the light in his keen, cold eyes underwent no change. His firm stride did not falter for an instant. He walked out to the street, stepped into an automobile, and, without a backward glance, he was rapidly driven away. Nick resumed his seat and examined the disguise presently brought in by Captain Hardy. It was a combination beard and mustache of dark color. The lining was considerably soiled, so that a trade-mark on it was hardly discernible. “I cannot make it out,” Hardy remarked, when Nick took a convex lens from his pocket through which to examine it. “It looks like a foreign word.” “It is a foreign word,” said Nick. “This disguise was made in Vienna.” “What does that signify? Anything of importance?” “I know of nothing,” said Nick evasively, placing the disguise on the desk. “I merely wanted to see it. By the way, Hardy, did you see the man who just went through the outer office?” “Yes, certainly.” “Who is he?” “Some one the sergeant admitted. He has charge out there. The man was a stranger to me.” “But not to me,” said Nick significantly. “What do you mean? Who is he?” “Did you ever hear of Andrew Margate, better known across the water as Andy Margate?” “I don’t think so, Nick,” said Hardy. “What about him?” “He is as keen, clever, and dangerous a crook as could be found on two continents,” Nick said impressively. “The devil you say!”