"Sixty, at least, though he has no gray hairs. An old soldier, I should say, for he was as straight as an arrow, and had but one arm, taken off close to the shoulder." "What name did he give?" "Peter Mannion." "Were you prepossessed in his favor?" "Very much so. He was, or appeared to be, a perfect gentleman." That evening Nick was in Washington. After a long talk with Chick, he retired to pass a restless night. The next morning Chick left the city, taking the Baltimore train, but getting off at Beltzville. Patsy, by another route, left Washington in the afternoon. A few days afterward, while Nick was at Prosper Craven's house, at which he had been a constant visitor, a tall, handsome, elderly man was ushered in by Nellie Mannion, who, the day before, had risen from a sickbed. "Father," said she, "this is the uncle of Arthur. He lives near Baltimore, and has come to see me." Nick Carter did not remain in the house but a few moments after the uncle's arrival. Excusing himself, he went out to give utterance to a soft whistle. The uncle bore no resemblance to Arthur Mannion outside of his eyes. There was some similarity in shape, position, and expression. But Mannion's hair was black. This man's was light-brown. Mannion had full, red lips. This man's were thin and bloodless. Mannion had a sharp nose; this man's was broad and full. This man's voice was heavy and harsh. Mannion's was a light, musical one. There were other points of dissimilarity, but still the relationship might exist. Nick noticed that the uncle wore no sleeve to hide the loss of his arm. From appearances, the arm had been amputated at the shoulder-joint. "And yet, and yet," muttered the detective, under his breath, but without going further. Chick returned three days later. "Got it?" asked Nick, with no endeavor to hide his eagerness. "Yes. Luck was with me. I traced Mannion from the time he left Beltzville until he arrived in Baltimore." Chick did not remain in Washington but a few hours. Another mission of importance took him away. After his departure, Nick called on Jackson Feversham. He did not tell the murdered man's friend all he knew and suspected, for the detective was a stickler for the preservation of the dramatic unities. But he did say this: "Arthur Mannion is not dead. Preparations are making for the attempted perpetration of a monstrous fraud. If the conspirators knew what we know about the will, the attempt would never be made. But, thanks to the coroner and the local officials, the secret of the copies has been kept, and before many days somebody representing Arthur Mannion will appear in court and ask, first, to have that bogus will admitted to probate, and second, to have some person--I can name him--appointed administrator of Mannion's estate; the estate, of course, being the property which is mentioned in the will drawn in his favor." "Who is this person who will represent Mannion?"