Not only was he wearing one of the excellent suits the detective kept for his more respectable disguises, but in build, walk, features, and even expression, he was as much like Nick Carter as one pea is like another. His astounding plan had ripened into action. CHAPTER V. IN NICK’S SHOES. The butler happened to be out ordering supplies when the detective’s front bell rang, and, as Mrs. Peters, the housekeeper, was near the door, she answered it. On the tip of her tongue she had the answer which she had already given to several inquiries—that the detective was out of town. Therefore, her amazement may be imagined when she found—as she supposed—that it was Nick himself who was outside. “For goodness’ sake, sir!” she ejaculated, starting in surprise. “What in the world are you doing back so soon?” The masquerader smiled one of Nick’s characteristically genial smiles. “I was called back, I’m sorry to say,” he answered, his voice taking on the detective’s familiar tones. “Joseph furnished my address yesterday, I believe, and the man he gave it to wired me to come back. The case was so important that I felt I had to. I hope to return, though, in a few days, and, as I have everything here, of course, I didn’t bring any baggage.” “Well, I never!” exclaimed the housekeeper. “I feared it would be just like this, but I hoped you would stay this time. Didn’t Mr. Chickering come back with you?” “No, I left him at Little Saranac, but shall send for him if I need him.” As they had been speaking, the housekeeper had instinctively stepped aside, and Gordon had passed her. Now he started up the stairs, in the direction of the study. “You’ll have some lunch ready at the usual time?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder. “Of course, sir,” was the reply; and that was all that was said. If the new arrival had been Nick himself, he would have smilingly apologized to Mrs. Peters for having broken in so unexpectedly upon her well-earned relaxation, but Green Eye was altogether too selfish to think of such things. Thus far he had played his part very well, but there were many pitfalls in his path, and there was no knowing at what moment he might fall into one of them. His eyes were not Nick’s eyes, and his disposition was not Nick’s disposition—far from it, in fact. At any moment his innate harshness and tyranny might assert themselves. Moreover, his habits were unlike those of the detective. He smoked much more, for one thing, and he drank. Nick, to be sure, had consumed many a glass of beer and wine—for effect and under protest—but he had no real liking for anything of the sort, and no one had had a better opportunity than he to note the evil effects of drink. Naturally, Gordon had resolved to deny himself whenever he was under the eye of those who were familiar with Nick’s habits, but it remained to be seen whether he would succeed in keeping to that resolution.