Griswold faced the possibility very reluctantly, but he felt obliged to face it. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that it was the one and only solution. As a newspaper proprietor, he knew a great deal about the seamy side of life, and was the custodian of many discreditable secrets which for one reason or another had never been allowed to see the light of print. He did not need any one to tell him that all is not gold that glitters, or that a man is necessarily straight in every respect because he has never been found out in any wrongdoing, and has always enjoyed the best of reputations. As far as that went, this might not be Carter’s first fall from grace. The detective was undoubtedly an extraordinarily clever man, and was said to be wealthy. Might it not be that he had contrived for years to deceive his clients, and fatten his bank account at their expense? The thought made Griswold gasp, but at the same time it caused his heart to race with excitement. What a beat it would be if his papers could announce exclusively that Nick Carter, one of America’s greatest detectives, and the so-called “archenemy of criminals,” was in reality a master criminal himself! It would cause a sensation, the like of which had never been known. Of course, Griswold confided none of this to the man before him. Instead, with the instinct of the reporter, which had never deserted him since his early days of struggle, he surprised Simpson with a question. “Well, what do you make of it?” he asked. The thieving treasurer’s mind had reverted to his own troubles, and it was with some difficulty that he pulled himself together sufficiently to answer. “Why, I—I hardly know what to think, Mr. Griswold,” he replied. “It’s pretty hard to reconcile that sort of thing with what I’ve always heard and read about Nick Carter, but I have to believe my own ears, don’t I? The money seems to have looked good to Carter, just as it did to me, but that wasn’t all of it, I’m sure.” “What do you mean by that?” “I’m thinking about that whisper of the other fellow’s,” Simpson explained. “I told you, remember, that he said something about ‘green-eyed.’ We use that expression in only one connection, don’t we, in speaking of ‘green-eyed jealousy?’ Don’t that look as if Cray was accusing Carter of turning on him because he was jealous of him for some reason?” Griswold was impressed. “That sounds plausible enough,” he admitted. He was unconsciously allowing himself to be led still further astray, and it began to look as if the outcome might be decidedly unpleasant for the great detective, for the owner of a chain of great newspapers is not an accuser who can be ignored or despised. CHAPTER XXXIV. GRISWOLD IN COMMAND. The millionaire remained lost in thought for a few moments longer, then grasped Simpson firmly by the arm. “Come into the house,” he ordered.