“I can’t see any difference,” he declared. “So far as I can tell, you are the same man I talked with there, and don’t forget that Cray himself was evidently convinced that he was talking with you. Later, you—or the man I took to be you—phoned me and asked further particulars concerning Simpson. I hoped for speedy results, of course, with the case in such hands, but I heard nothing more until the next morning, when I was informed that a man named Jones, who had represented himself as connected with the _Chronicle and Observer_ office, had been seriously injured in New Pelham. The description suggested Cray, and I hastened up into Westchester County. I found that it was Cray, and learned that he had been muttering your name. He had been repeatedly struck on the head with some blunt instrument, and the doctor feared a fracture. He had not really been conscious, though, and hasn’t been yet, to the best of my knowledge. “I questioned Mrs. Simpson and the doctor, and learned that Cray had been found in the back yard near one of those little portable garages. Curiosity sent me out there, and, hearing a sort of groan, I broke into the garage, and, to my amazement, found Simpson himself bound and gagged.” He then went on to repeat the treasurer’s story of his capture, and the unseen conflict that had taken place between Cray and his companion—the man whom Jack had referred to as Nick Carter. Incidentally, he referred to the term “green-eyed,” which Simpson had overheard. “Now, that’s pretty strong circumstantial evidence, isn’t it?” he demanded at the conclusion. “If you are really Nick Carter, and can prove that you haven’t been in New York for days, no one will rejoice more sincerely than I—although it would cheat me out of a tremendous news sensation. Frankly, though, I still find it almost impossible to believe you, despite your attitude and your appearance of sincerity. How could your own servants have been deceived? How could any one have lived in your house for days without betraying himself in some way? How could Cray, a detective himself, and an old friend, have been so blind?” Nick and his assistant had listened to the story with growing interest and excitement. More than once they had exchanged meaning glances, but when Griswold mentioned the compound word which had been part of Cray’s last startled whisper, the faces they turned to each other were a study. It seemed impossible for them to keep silence any longer, but they managed to do so until the millionaire had finished. “The ‘dead’ have come to life more than once, you know, in our experience,” Nick said softly, looking at his assistant. Chick nodded. “Yes, that must be it, I suppose,” he agreed. “I was thinking all along that I knew of no one else who would possibly have turned such a trick, and when it came to that ‘green-eyed’ business——” “There wasn’t much room left for doubt,” Nick supplied. “What in thunder are you two talking about?” Griswold broke in.