Chick darted down the hall and entered the old lady’s room. Standing in the middle of the floor there he saw a rather pretty girl, with black hair and eyes and regular features. She was tall and slender, and seemed to be about twenty years of age. She curtsied and blushed as Chick entered the room. “What do you want here?” asked Chick. “You are the famous Nick Carter?” asked the girl, speaking in French, a language which Chick understood perfectly. “Why are you here?” continued Chick. “And why were you here a short time ago?” “I was not here a short time ago,” was the reply, “and I come now at the command of my mistress. Why should you say I was here a short time ago, when I have been with my sick mistress all morning?” CHAPTER III. COVERING CLUES. “And your mistress is Mrs. Maynard?” asked Chick. “Of a certainty.” Chick saw that the girl was antagonistic, but he did not show what his thoughts were. The only way to secure information from the girl would be to make friends with her. He asked: “How is Mrs. Maynard this morning?” “She is very ill, sir.” “It is a terrible affair,” said Chick. “It is a wonder that all the people in the house were not murdered in their beds.” “I shall be afraid to stay here now,” said the girl, still speaking in French. “You surely are not going away?” asked Chick. “What will Mrs. Maynard do? She surely can’t get a companion like you—young, devoted, and attractive—every day.” The girl blushed prettily. The flattery was winning its way, seemingly. “I must go about my work,” said the girl. “I have to take to my mistress some of her clothes from the closet.” “Can I assist you?” asked Chick. “Oh, no. It is only a few I carry.” The girl went to the closet. Chick watched her every move and glance. Entering the closet, she looked anxiously about. She seemed disappointed at not finding something she sought. Passing her hands swiftly along the line of garments suspended on hooks, the girl turned them out from the wall and looked behind them. “You are looking for something?” asked Chick. “For a dress,” was the reply. “It is not here. Ah!” Standing in the doorway of the closet, the girl’s eyes now fell on the pink nightrobe, lying on the bed where Nick had tossed it. The girl stepped briskly forth and seized the robe, doubling it up and hiding as much of it from view as was possible. “And yet she claimed to be looking for a dress,” thought Chick. “Here is mistake number one for us. We should have hidden that nightrobe. I presume the woman will see that we do not get it in our hands again. Rather bright girl this. I wish Nick would happen in here just now.”