Nick slipped the letter into his pocket, also the torn envelope, then arose and turned to the landlady. “Do you know where Miss Perrot sent her trunk, or who took it away?” he inquired. “I do not, Mr. Carter. A man with a wagon came after it.” “An expressman?” “I don’t think so. There was no name on the wagon.” “You saw the man and the team?” “I did, sir.” “Can you describe them?” “Only in a general way. The man was short, thickset, and quite dark. The horse was a gray one, and the wagon of moderate size, without a top.” “Very good,” Nick said approvingly. “There is no doubt in my mind, Mrs. Lord, that Pauline Perrot will never return to this house. She is probably a very clever criminal.” “In that case, Mr. Carter, I hope she never will return,” Mrs. Lord said gravely. “I am much surprised. I would not have thought it.” “Have you missed anything from the house?” “I have not, sir. I now see, however, that a brush and comb which I loaned her are gone from the dressing stand.” “H’m! Is that so?” “She may have taken them by accident when packing her trunk.” Nick did not reply. Instead, turning to Patsy, he said: “Raise both curtains, Patsy, as high as they will go.” Then, dropping on his hands and knees, Nick began a sharp scrutiny of the carpet and a rug near the dressing stand, much to the amazement of the waiting woman. For more than ten minutes he continued this inspection, and at times using a lens and picking something from the floor. When he arose he had between his fingers several black hairs, some quite long, which evidently had dropped from Pauline Perrot’s brush or comb. He inclosed them in his notebook, which he then replaced in his pocket. “Now, Mrs. Lord, I am going to take away these few garments Miss Perrot left here,” Nick informed her. “Here is my card. If any inquiries are made, which is entirely improbable, you may refer the person to me.” The woman glanced at the card, then gazed more intently at the famous detective. She evidently had heard of him, but had not suspected his identity till then, for she said quickly: “Very well, Mr. Carter. I am sure that anything you do will be right and proper.” Nick bowed and glanced at Patsy. “Roll up the garments and the pair of boots in the wardrobe closet,” he directed. “Take them out to the car. I will bring the underwear in the bureau.” It was noon when they departed with the various articles, all that Pauline Perrot had left as links in the chain, or to tell a fateful and tragic story. “Back to the Gordon place, Danny,” said Nick, after he and Patsy were seated. More than half the distance had been covered, when, rounding a curve in the woodland road, two figures appeared some fifty yards in advance of the speeding car. One was a gaunt, lop-eared hound.