Crouching beside the corpse of the murdered woman, he took a lens from his pocket and examined her bloodstained finger tip, her hand and wrist, the several wounds in her matted hair, and then he surprised both of his observers by taking out his own handkerchief and dipping it in some of the partly congealed blood, afterward folding it and replacing it in his pocket. “What’s that for?” Phelan inquired, with brows knit perplexedly. “Further study,” Nick tersely replied, rising. “I am going to leave you, Phelan, to notify the coroner and take the necessary legal steps. Bear in mind, however, that all this is strictly confidential for the present. Publication might prove disastrous.” “Trust me,” Phelan assured him. “I’m dumb, Nick, till you remove the seal of silence. You have something else up your sleeve, I infer.” “Exactly.” “Go ahead, then, and good luck. I’ll look after things here while you get in your work.” “Good enough, Phelan,” said Nick, shaking hands with him. “I’ll reciprocate in some way when----” “Cut that!” Phelan interrupted. “You know I am always at your service. Go ahead and get in your work.” Nick did not delay his departure. He left the house with Chick and returned to his touring car. “Home, Danny,” he directed. “I’ll let him drop me there, Chick, and then take you to headquarters. I want Gordon’s garments and that bloodstained jimmie. Tell the commissioner I will be responsible for their safe return. Bring them to the library.” CHAPTER V. NICK CARTER’S ANALYSIS. “Yes, it is human blood. There is no question about it. It is human blood--but not from the veins of Matilda Lancey.” These declarations came from Nick Carter about three o’clock that afternoon. They were addressed to Chick and his junior assistant, Patsy Garvan. All three detectives then were seated at a broad zinc-covered table in Nick’s finely equipped laboratory, a large rear room in his Madison Avenue residence. Lying on the table were the bloodstained articles belonging to Arthur Gordon, the disjointed jimmy, and also the handkerchief which Nick had dipped in the blood of the murdered woman. Near by stood a costly microscope, a stand of small test tubes, several vials containing chemicals, together with numerous other articles which Nick had been using. He replaced on the table one section of the jimmy, while speaking, and Patsy took it up to gaze at the dark-red stains on it, remarking, with some surprise: “Human blood, chief, but not from the veins of the murdered woman? Gee whiz! that’s mighty significant. Are you sure of it?” “Absolutely sure,” said Nick. “You now have tested the blood on each of these articles?” Chick inquired. “Yes.” “And the results are convincing?”