“Wonder who that is?” he asked himself apprehensively, then shrugged his shoulders. “This won’t do!” he muttered. “If I’m going to be as nervous as a cat at every sound, I had better give up. What difference does it make who it is; I’m master of the situation.” He listened attentively, and heard Joseph go to the door, after which there was a murmur of voices, followed by steps on the stairs. Presently, the butler knocked and entered. “I thought I told you at luncheon that I was still out of town,” Gordon said angrily. “I came back for this one case, nothing else, and I don’t want to be bothered by every Tom, Dick, and Harry.” “I didn’t forget, sir, I assure you,” Joseph said apologetically. “It’s Mr. Cray, though, and I felt you would want to make an exception in his case. There’s a gentleman with him.” Gordon knew what that meant, for he had studied Nick Carter almost as thoroughly as the detective had studied him. Moreover, had he not himself figured not inconspicuously in detective circles not many years before? Consequently, he knew that the Cray referred to was Jack Cray, a former police detective, who for years had been in business for himself, and who, curiously enough, was a close friend of Nick’s. The two were about as unlike as possible, but Cray, big, methodical, tireless, and brave to the point of recklessness, was a fine example of his type, and had won Nick’s friendship and assistance, giving, in return, a rare gratitude and loyalty. Nick had thrown many cases in Cray’s way, and, on the other hand, had found his big, lumbering friend of considerable assistance now and then. In fact, they worked together unusually well, for Cray had all the plodding methods of the police department at his command, to supplement Carter’s swift intuitions, and the ex-police detective—unlike many of his kind—was always ready to follow Nick’s leadership, and defer to the latter’s better judgment. Should the bogus Nick Carter see Cray, though? He did not in the least fear discovery at Cray’s hands, but the interview might lead to something embarrassing. On the other hand, it might be most fortunate. Obviously, Cray had brought one of his clients to Nick, and that meant that the big fellow felt himself more or less out of his depth, and wished to consult with his brilliant friend. If the case were important enough, it would be worth while for Green Eye to look into it. He felt himself quite capable of solving almost any puzzle if he chose to solve it, but, aside from that, there was a possibility of pickings—of blackmail again. But much depended upon the client. “Who is the other man?” the criminal asked eagerly. “Did Cray say?” “Yes, sir. It’s Mr. Griswold—Mr. Lane A. Griswold.” The man behind the desk whistled softly, and a gleam came into his eyes. CHAPTER VII. THE RASCAL’S FIRST CLIENT.