Indeed, Chick came hurrying along the path at a pace that told he had something important to communicate--even if his face had not shown that he was excited. “Telephone, chief!” cried Chick, as soon as he came within hearing. “It is Professor Matthew Bentham. Wanted to know if you could see him if he came. I told him you were out just then, but I believed I could find you.” “Yes?” “I also said that I had no doubt you would see him, and that he’d better come over from Brooklyn--that’s where he lives--and get to our house by the time you were there.” “That was right. Did he say he would come?” “Yes. He said he would come over in his motor car and be there in a few minutes.” So well had Matthew Bentham timed himself that his car drew up in front of the Madison Avenue house just as Nick Carter and Chick walked up from Madison Square. The three entered the house together, while the chauffeur kept the car at the curb, to wait. “It’s gone!” were Matthew Bentham’s first words, as soon as they were in the library. “I’ve just found it out.” “You mean the package of papers sent by Andrew Anderton?” “Yes. There are not many things would have made me trouble you at this time of the morning, so you can easily guess. I was tired when I got home last night, after that reception at Ched Ramar’s, or I would have looked then to see that the records were safe. But I went to the place where I had put them the first thing this morning, even before breakfast.” “In a secret place?” “Yes. The one I told you about yesterday afternoon.” “Did you say nobody knew where they were but yourself? Think hard, please. You are quite sure you have never let it out to your daughter, for instance?” “I told you yesterday that I have been careful to keep it from her--for her own sake. She has not the slightest idea where I kept those papers.” “What is the name of the boy who does odd jobs about your house--and sleeps away?” asked Nick, with seeming irrelevance. “Swagara.” “Curious name. What countryman is he?” “Japanese.” Nick Carter started and looked hard at the professor. Then he smiled grimly, as he asked: “Where did the boy come from? How did you get him?” “An employment agency in New York. He had been a valet for a theatrical man before he came to me. But he didn’t like traveling, and he was willing to do the menial work I require rather than go on the road again. He wanted to stay in New York, so that he could study more conveniently. He is a bright chap, and he speaks German and French, as well as English and his own native tongue.” “He brought good references, I suppose?” “Unimpeachable,” was Bentham’s prompt reply. “He has been in this country three years, and there are many persons in Brooklyn who knew him before he went with the theatrical man, Goddard. They all speak well of Swagara. He attended a college there, studying languages, and everybody says he was marvelously quick.”