Nearly a minute passed, one minute of absolute silence and inky darkness. Then a swift beam of light shot through the hall--but not under the stairs. It was gone as quickly as it came, only to be repeated a moment later, leaping swiftly the entire length of the broad hall. The crook saw no one, and he then stepped noiselessly toward the main stairway, where he paused once more to listen. It was the move the detective had expected, and for which he was waiting. Rising noiselessly, Nick quickly glided nearer, then suddenly clasped the motionless black figure in his arms. A thrill of amazement went through him from head to foot. The form he had clasped, confining both arms and preventing the use of a weapon--was that of a woman. Amazement, however, did not cause Nick Carter to lose his head. He held fast to the supple, writhing figure of the unknown female, who wriggled vainly to free herself and reach for her revolver, while the detective quickly whispered, in tones well calculated to dispel her fears: "Whist! Keep quiet! I wa’n’t wise to your being a skirt. What’s your game here?" Nick’s quietude also was assuring. The woman ceased struggling, but turned sufficiently to gaze at his face, as well as it could be seen in the faint light that came through the pebbled-glass panes of the front door. Nick now could see the sharp glint of her eyes and the outline of her brow and cheeks above the bandage of black cloth that covered her mouth and chin. "What’s your own game?" she questioned quickly, under her breath. "What sent you here?" "I’m on the lift and----” "You’re not a dick?" "Dick be hanged! I saw the iron door under the front steps was open, so I picked the lock of the other to see what I could nail," Nick explained. "I piped you in yonder at the desk when I crept up the stairs. But I did not dream you was a skirt." "Let me go, will you?" "Sure--if you’ll keep your yap closed." "Trust me for that." "I’m not here to be nailed by a bull," Nick added. "You can gamble that I’m not," muttered the woman. "Say, step in there with me. We ought to know each other better." "That hits me all right--but walk on your toes." Nick had released her, when requested, but the woman clung to him for a second, as if fain to express her relief with a momentary display of affection. Together they stole into the library, and she noiselessly closed the door. "You’re not a dick, then," she remarked, in whispers. "Say, that’s some load off my mind. I thought sure I was a goner." "Dick nothing!" Nick muttered derisively. "Have a peek. Do I look like a dick?" He fished out his searchlight while speaking, throwing the beam upon himself. He then removed the disguise he had put on a few moments before, and displayed the sinister, make-up face beneath it.