Danny hurried away in the direction indicated. “I’m deucedly sorry for this one reason, Garside, at least,” Nick gravely remarked, as they hastened through the narrow street. “What reason is that, Mr. Carter?” Margate inquired, with a covert leer. “Because I had a Philadelphia specialist coming here this morning to diagnose Madame Clayton’s illness.” “Is that so?” “Yes. I would have called with him about ten o’clock.” “What’s the big idea? What do you suspect?” “I have not quite liked the looks of that nurse, Garside, from the start,” Nick glibly explained. “That so?” “She don’t look good to me. I’m far from sure that she has not been drugging Madame Clayton,” Nick added. “But what could she gain from that?” “I’ve got to dig deeper into the case, Garside, before I can answer that question.” “It’s doubly necessary, then, for us to find Madame Clayton.” “Exactly.” “We may succeed in doing so. She surely could not have gone very far in her weak and abnormal condition.” “So I think,” Nick agreed. “That’s why I have undertaken to trace her.” They had come within view of Busby’s upper windows while they were talking. Margate gazed sharply ahead, then glanced back over his shoulder. The narrow street was deserted in both directions. As well as one could have told, no mortal eye was observing the two hurrying men. Margate drew out a white handkerchief, holding it conspicuously in his hand for a moment and then wiping his face with it. Nick Carter did not appear to observe him. He had known from the first, nevertheless, that the rascal was trying to lure him to some place where, no doubt, Patsy Garvan had been cornered the previous night, he having failed to report the result of this espionage. Nick now was convinced, too, that his companion had signaled to some one in the grim stone house which they were rapidly approaching. This was confirmed a moment later, for Busby himself suddenly appeared at the grille gate, when the two men were scarce ten feet from it. “We might inquire of this fellow,” Margate suggested quietly. “We will, Garside,” Nick muttered. There was no need for inquiries, however, for Busby stepped out and quickly accosted them, with a look of grave concern on his wrinkled face. “I say, gents, you’re not looking for a stray woman, are you?” he asked, glancing from one to the other. “That’s precisely what we are looking for,” Nick replied, with well-feigned eagerness. “By gracious, then, it’s lucky I happened out here just as you came along,” declared Busby, with manifest relief. “An elderly woman,” Nick added. “That’s right. She pulled my bell along about three o’clock this morning,” said Busby, pointing. “I came out and found her sitting on the sidewalk. She was only partly dressed and didn’t seem to be right in the head. I took her in and my wife put her to bed. We don’t know who she is from a side of leather. I’ve sent for a doctor, but he hasn’t showed up. I was just coming out to look for him.”