This woman, handsome, fascinating, unscrupulous, with wits sharpened by the contest with Nick Carter, whose bitter enemy she had announced herself to be, because she had been thwarted in her attempt to win a fortune in diamonds, was now in St. Louis and mixed up in a mysterious affair in which Nick's friend, John Dashwood, was in some way connected. What did it all mean? CHAPTER II. THE FATE OF THE TRANSGRESSOR. At the time of Nick Carter's meeting with Cora Reesey she was but a novice in crime, but the detective was convinced by a study of her character that she needed only experience to make her a dangerous foe. Foiled in her scheme to enrich herself at the expense of Roland Garrett, a fortunate member of San Francisco's society, she had turned upon Nick Carter, the author of her defeat, and had venomously announced her intention to get even. Perhaps it had been her plan to try conclusions with the great detective in the city of New York, his headquarters, and, perhaps, the stay in St. Louis was meant to be but temporary and for the purpose of putting her in funds. After arranging a disguise which completely concealed his identity, Nick boarded a car bound for Broadway, transferred to that long thoroughfare which runs parallel with and through the river district, and near the hour of eleven found himself in front of the door of Luke Filbon's house. It was a small, one-story, brick structure, located but a short distance from the river and near a large grain-elevator. The house was in darkness, and all was silent within. Nick pressed the button by the side of the door, and soon was heard a weak, querulous voice from within. "Who's there?" "Some one to see Mr. Filbon on important business. Is he at home?" "No, and he won't come to-night, I'm thinking. He said he had work to do at the office that would likely keep him until after midnight. I am his mother. I suppose you know." "I took it for granted that you were. Has any one been here to see him this evening?" "Yes. John Dashwood was here about an hour ago." "No one else?" "No. What's the matter? Luke isn't in any trouble, is he?" There was maternal anxiety in the tone of the voice. Nick believed that evasion would be charity. "I hope not," he said. "Good night," and he walked quickly away from the door before further and probably embarrassing questions could be asked. The patrolman on the beat was found. He had seen two men go from Broadway toward the Filbon house between nine and ten o'clock. They were not together, but were fifteen minutes apart. He had not been near enough to observe them closely, but was satisfied from their build--they were both large men--that neither was Filbon, who was small and thin.