Nick could hear no sound of any, however, though the dash and gurgle of water through the sluice faintly reached his ears. As he came nearer the house, a brawny, hard-featured woman of middle age appeared at the back door. Her large, angular figure was clad in a calico wrapper, much the worse for dirt and wear. “Is Mr. Ardley at home?” Nick inquired, pausing to question her. “He’s out in the shop,” she replied, in rasping, nasal tones. “Is he busy?” “He’s allas busy.” “Any one with him?” “No. He’s alone. You’ll find him.” “You can bet I’ll find him,” thought Nick, far from favorably impressed with the woman. “She must be the wife Jones mentioned. She looks as if she had done her share of hard work, and looks like a hard ticket, as well.” Nick presently found the man, and his impression of the woman faded to utter insignificance. He discovered him in one end of the building, that nearest the river, evidently engaged in repairing a leather belt which hung over a wheel of part of the overhead machinery, and for a moment Nick was fairly startled by his appearance. For Ardley was a giant in stature, a huge, hulky, red-featured man of about fifty, with a mop of hair that hung like a lion’s mane over his brow and ears. He was a type before which ordinary men wilt away to utter insignificance. He was clad in coarse overalls, huge cowhide boots, and a thick woolen shirt, so open in front as to expose his massive neck and his great, bulging chest, covered with scraggly hair. His sleeves were rolled above his elbows, revealing a pair of brawny forearms, knotted with thick muscles and as large around as a ham. He was, in fact, as prodigious and powerful and in a way as repulsive a man as Nick Carter ever had seen. It was not in the detective’s nature, nevertheless, to be deterred from his purpose by this ominous aspect of the man. He saw at a glance that he was a good deal of a boor and a brute. He saw, too, that he was gifted with no art to disguise his feelings and resort to subterfuge, if caught unprepared for an accusation; and, now seriously suspecting that he knew something about the crime of the previous night, Nick resolved to bring him up to the ringbolt then and there. Ardley’s huge face was purple from his exertions with the heavy belt, when, hearing the detective’s footsteps on the floor, he turned and saw him. “Hello!” he cried, with a leonine growl, as if surprised. “How are you?” returned Nick complacently. “What d’ye want?” “You are Mr. Ardley, I suppose?” “Yes. What d’ye want?” “I want to talk with you for a few minutes,” said Nick. “It’s on important business. My name is Hudson. You are not too busy, I hope.” “Too busy!” Ardley echoed the words with a fierce, derisive snarl. “I ain’t busy only with this cussed belt. That can wait. Sure you can talk with me, Mr. Hudson.” “Good enough.” “I’m never too busy to talk along with a gentleman. Important business, eh? What’s it all about? Sit there, Mr. Hudson.”