“He meant it, nevertheless, when he said that Carter does not suspect me,” Doctor Guelpa declared. “We must get him, then, before he does suspect. It afterward might be too late.” “That’s right, too,” Draper agreed quickly. “But can it be done?” “It must be done,” Guelpa coolly insisted. “I know how and will turn the trick.” “And then?” “This game that we have been playing must be continued. We must throttle suspicion where we find it, and choke the cursed weed before it can spread.” “That’s the stuff, all right.” “We must maintain our position and good standing here, Draper, or it will be a case of bolt for us, with the police of the world out to get us. That won’t do at all, Draper, not at all. We must bluff suspicion to a standstill, or down it with a club.” “I’m with you all the while,” said Draper approvingly. “I reckon we can make good. But what’s to be done with this pup?” “Pull out the empty trunk,” said Guelpa. “We’ll crowd him into it and ship him to my office, then lug it into Biddle’s quarters. Ring for a porter to lend you a hand with the trunk to the elevator. I’ll remark to him, or to any other inquisitive observer, that it takes too much room in my suite.” “That can be done in ten minutes,” nodded Draper, hastening to bring one of the large trunks from the adjoining room. Doctor Guelpa smoothed his slightly ruffled coat and bestowed a kick upon the senseless form of the detective. “Dead easy,” said he, replying. “Cram him into it and lock it. I’ll get Scoville on the phone, in the meantime, and have him come round here with a wagon.” Patsy Garvan heard none of this. He was lying with his face upturned in the bright electric light, a face as ghastly as that of a corpse. CHAPTER VII. A LEAF FROM THE PAST. “Wait here. I may send you instructions.” These were Nick Carter’s brief instructions to Chick, in fact, when he left his Madison Avenue residence at seven o’clock that evening, to seek an interview with the woman who, he suspected, could supply him with a clew to the identity of Chester Clayton’s double, if not with positive information concerning him. Danny Maloney, the detective’s chauffeur, was waiting at the curbing with his touring car. Nick gave him the necessary directions, resulting in his alighting half an hour later in front of the attractive home of Mrs. Julia Clayton, who had fainted so suddenly in Mademoiselle Falloni’s suite that morning. “You may wait, Danny,” said Nick. “I don’t think I shall be very long.” “Long, or short, chief, you’ll find me here,” replied Danny. Nick strode up the gravel walk to the front door and rang the bell. Lights in the hall and one in the side rooms denoted that Mrs. Clayton had returned. “I hope I may find her alone, or that Chester Clayton is not here,” Nick said to himself, while waiting. “She seemed averse this morning to talking of the matter in his presence. That’s one reason why I suspected that she----”