The scene of this interview, which was the beginning of one of the most extraordinary criminal cases in the career of the famous detective, was the library of a new and exceedingly fine wooden residence in one of the most beautiful rural sections of the Bronx. The hour was about ten o’clock, on a charming May morning, nearly seven months since Nick Carter first met these people, and recovered for Mr. Rudolph Strickland the costly art treasures stolen from the Fifth Avenue flat, in which he then resided, resulting also in the arrest of the notorious European crook, Mortimer Deland, together with a gang of local confederates. Nick had frequently met Arthur Gordon since then, and he knew that this wealthy young banker and broker of Wall Street was contemplating matrimony, but he was ignorant of many of the particulars which Mr. Strickland hastened to impart. “This is Mr. Gordon’s new house,” said he, “though he already has deeded the entire estate to Wilhelmina, who soon is to be his wife.” “We were to be married next Wednesday evening,” put in the girl more calmly. “This is to be their home, Mr. Carter, and I am to live with them,” Mr. Strickland continued. “Both insist that I shall dwell no longer alone in the flat I recently occupied.” “You now are living here, I infer,” Nick remarked. “Only Mina and I, aside from our several servants.” “I see.” “It was Arthur’s wish that the wedding should take place in the home he is to occupy. So he bought this fine estate of several acres and then built and furnished this beautiful residence. It was completed nearly three weeks ago.” “It certainly is a fine place and a fine house,” Nick admitted, glancing around. “I since have been living here with Mina, while she has been making preparations for the wedding,” Strickland went on. “Mr. Gordon has been living at home with his parents, in Riverside Drive, all the while, but he has been coming out here each afternoon after business hours to direct the laborers who still are at work on various parts of the estate.” “Was he here yesterday afternoon?” Nick inquired. “Yes, until nearly six o’clock.” “And then?” “We supposed he would return to dinner at that time, as usual, and we sent one of the servants to call him from the golf links, where he went to supervise the work of some of the laborers. The servant returned in a few moments and stated that Mr. Gordon had gone.” “Gone where?” “That’s the question,” said Mr. Strickland. “I am stating the circumstances in the order they occurred, that you may be better able to determine whether----” “Oh, you are too slow, Uncle Rudolph,” cried Wilhelmina, interrupting. “I cannot endure this suspense. Here, Mr. Carter, read this! It came by mail this morning. It will tell you, in a nutshell, what is said to have occurred; but I cannot believe it, will not believe it. They say---- Oh, Mr. Carter, they say that Arthur Gordon has deserted me, and eloped with his handsome stenographer!”