“Lost! What is loss of time compared with the loss I have suffered?” cried the old German, wringing his hands and desperately running his fingers through his thick growth of hair. “I am heartbroken. I am in despair. My beloved Murillo. My Titian. My Meissonier and Corot. My priceless Correggio, and two originals by Helleu. My antique, engraved gems. My costly collection of jade. My----” “Hush! You will make yourself ill, Uncle Rudolph!” cried Wilhelmina, rising and clasping his arm with her dainty hands. “Do please try----” “Ah, I am ill already. It is a loss to make angels weep,” Mr. Strickland went on, in pathetic agitation. “It is gone--that, too, is gone! My life, my soul, my best treasure on earth! My precious Stradivarius! Oh, Mr. Carter----” Nick checked him by placing both hands on the old man’s shoulders, holding him firmly while he confronted him and said, with intense and impressive earnestness: “Stop, sir, and listen to me. You have met with a great loss, but grief and lamentation will not bring back your stolen treasures. That now is what you most wish. That can be accomplished only by calm consideration of the circumstances, followed by speedy and energetic efforts to trace the crooks and recover their plunder. I feel sure that I can do both, but I will undertake it only on one condition, that you sit down and compose yourself while I look into the matter. Courage, Mr. Strickland! Your treasures are not hopelessly lost. They have not been destroyed by fire. They still exist--and I shall find them and restore them to you.” Nick spoke with more assurance than he really felt, but the circumstances seemed to warrant his confident prediction, and it was not without effect, combined with his strong, personal influence. Mr. Strickland pulled himself together, clasping both hands of the detective and saying fervently, but much more calmly: “God bless you! God bless you for that encouragement. I will try to be composed. I really will try, Mr. Carter.” “Capital!” Nick said approvingly, urging him to a chair. “I now think I shall accomplish something. Tell me, Arthur, what you know of this matter. Never mind at present what has been stolen. State merely the circumstances.” “That may be quickly done, Nick,” Gordon replied. “Miss Strickland, who resides in Boston and to whom I am engaged, is visiting my parents for a few days. We called here at five o’clock this afternoon, and her uncle consented to go with us to dinner. We left here about six o’clock and returned just before nine. During that brief interval these rooms were entered and robbed of treasures enough to fill a wagon, and the value of which can hardly be estimated. How the job was done is a mystery. There is not the slightest evidence showing where the thieves entered, or how they removed the property. It could not have been carried out through----” “One moment,” Nick interposed. “Does Mr. Strickland occupy this entire floor?” “He does.”