The landlady informed him that Gay had not been a boarder with her for ten months. He went to New York somewhere, but she never learned exactly where. “Was there any reason for his leaving?” asked the detective. “None that I’m sure of. There was a young lady boarding here at the same time, and we thought they were rather sweet on each other. She left, too, a few days after him, and I haven’t heard a word of either since.” “What was the young woman’s name?” “Let’s see: she was a typewriter, and her name was--was--was Langdon--Estelle Langdon.” Though Nick had not discovered Gay’s address by his trip to Brooklyn, he had obtained information that was almost equally as valuable, and he went back to New York very much elated. He returned to his house to meet with a surprise, which was almost dumfounding. As he entered, his servant said a lady was waiting to see him in the library. He proceeded straightway to receive his visitor. She sat in the gloom as Nick entered, and it was not till he had turned up the light that the surprise came. Even then it required ten or fifteen seconds for him to arrive at his startling discovery. The moment his eyes fell upon the face of the woman before him a conviction forced itself upon him that he had seen her before. Then came the more forcible conviction that it was a striking resemblance and not a recollection of features. Her face had almost a counterpart in a younger, smaller countenance on which he had recently looked. It was a twin picture to the portrait of the child in the back of Redway’s watch--was the face of the woman before him. Instantly Nick knew that he was in the presence of Redway’s mysterious visitor of the afternoon. What good luck had sent her to him? “You have been waiting to see me?” said Nick, inquiringly. “If you are the detective, Nick Carter, I have,” was her reply, as she looked intently into his face. “Well, I am Nick Carter, at your service.” “I have heard of your great professional skill, sir, and have come to seek your help in a case that to me has recently become more than a matter of life and death. I am rich, and can pay you well for your services.” “What is the nature of these services?” “To find my child.” “I thought so,” was Nick’s mental response. “Boy or girl?” he asked. “A girl.” “How old?” “Nearly seven years old.” “Are you a widow?” “No, sir,” with a flush. “My husband is alive.” “But you don’t live with him?” “I do not. We have not lived together for five years.” “And he has your child hidden away?” “Yes.” “What is your name?” “Evelyn Lock.” “Have you a picture of the little girl?” “No, sir. I haven’t seen her since she was less than two years old.” The tears came into her eyes, and a sob broke from her lips as she said it. “Why have you not searched for the child before?” “I have, but it was only within the last day or two that I have been able to locate her--abductor.” “Her father, you mean?” “Yes, sir.”