“Very clever!” commented Elaine. “And what did you hear?” CHAPTER III. “GOOD-BY TO THE SIMPLE LIFE!” He told her what he had heard, and her big, blue eyes grew bigger still with incredulous amazement. “You take my breath away!” she gasped. “Alfred Knox Atherton, one of the idols of New York society, who is hand in glove with most of the ‘big bugs’! It sounds unbelievable.” “It’s a bit of an eye opener, isn’t it?” chuckled the waiter. “What a sensation I could create if I hunted up a reporter and filled him up with the details of that little conversation in Frost’s room! But, of course, I’m not going to do anything of the kind. It’s too good a thing to give away. It’s a veritable gold mine, and I’m going to work it for all it’s worth.” “Blackmail, I suppose?” the girl suggested calmly. “You will interview Mr. Atherton and tell him what you have discovered, and threaten to expose him unless he buys your silence?” “Not so fast, my dear! That’s not quite the idea. I shall certainly interview Atherton and tell him what I have discovered, but instead of demanding money as the price of my silence, I shall demand a place in the firm. In other words, I shall say to Atherton: ‘I know everything. Let me stand in with you and share the loot, or I’ll give away the show!’” The girl nodded approvingly. “Yes, that will be much better than merely demanding money,” she said. “You bet your life it will!” declared her husband, and it was curious to note that he seemed perfectly at home with American slang. Indeed, there was nothing suggestive of Switzerland about him now. “Instead of a lump sum,” he went on, “it means a comfortable income for the rest of our lives. Better still, it means action, excitement, risk. Perhaps, even the chance of a tussle with Nick Carter.” Elaine shivered at the mention of the great detective’s name, but the man laughed light-heartedly. “You don’t like to hear that name?” he asked teasingly. “I don’t,” his wife confessed. “Nick Carter has never really caught us, but he’s spoiled more than one pretty plan of ours, and he has always seemed a sort of bogy man to me. I wish you hadn’t mentioned him just now, and I don’t see how you can think of him at such a time--at least, how you can make a joke of it. Whenever Nick Carter comes to my mind, I find my courage oozing out, and my feet getting cold.” Her husband leaned over the corner of the table, gave her a great hug, and kissed her. “Cheer up, little girl!” he said. “Nick Carter isn’t going to hurt you. Trust me for that.” “But what if he catches you? Could anything hurt me more than that?”