Chick made rapid recovery, and in less than a month was on the street. Nick was then in New York, having been called to his home by business demanding his attention. One afternoon, about two months after the escape of Mannion, as he sat in his office a telegraph boy handed him this message from Washington: "See afternoon papers to-day. Despatch just come Baltimore saying Mannion dead in hospital. "CHICK." CHAPTER XVII. PETER MANNION COMES ON DECK. It goes without saying that one of the first to buy a paper that afternoon was Nick Carter. Eagerly he scanned the telegraphic columns until he found what he sought. Dated from Baltimore, the item read as follows: "Last night, at St. Luke's Hospital, a patient who had been under the care of the doctors for several weeks passed away. Upon his arrival he had given the name of William Jonas, but a few hours before he died he confessed that his true name was Arthur Mannion, and that the police wanted him for the murder of James Playfair, the Washington millionaire. He stoutly asserted his innocence, called upon God to hear his word, and died with the name of his wife on his lips." The great detective very coolly folded the paper and placed it in his pocket. He was not dumfounded over what he had read, though his brow was wrinkled as he walked toward his residence. He was a passenger that evening on the B. & O. train for Baltimore, and the next morning was at St. Luke's Hospital. The superintendent received him rather coolly, but upon hearing his name became affable at once. "Can I see the body of the man Mannion who died here night before last?" Nick inquired. "Unfortunately, no. The burial took place yesterday. It was an aggravated case of typhoid, and we got him underground as soon as possible." "Did he leave any personal property behind?" "Yes. Two hundred dollars in bank-notes, each of one hundred dollars, several letters from his wife, addressed to him under the name of Jonas, and a few other pocket articles." "Will you allow me to read the letters?" "Certainly. They are in my drawer here. I am waiting to hear from his wife. She was notified yesterday morning, and an answer signed by her father came back, which stated that the blow of her husband's death had prostrated her, and that she was threatened with brain-fever." The letters were three in number, and all were written within the fortnight preceding the death. The one bearing the earliest date Nick read with amused interest: