“The woman slopped water from the bowl as she washed,” was the reply, “and it fell on the carpet and over her shoes. See, the spot where this foot stood is dry; the carpet is wet, and the dry spot represents a very small shoe.” “We started in with a dark-complexioned male murderer,” said Maynard, “and now we have come to a fair-faced woman with red hair, and clothes made in Paris.” “You asked me a moment ago,” said Nick, “if I thought this woman came across the Atlantic in quest of these diamonds, and I made no reply. Now, I can tell you that it is possible that she did, and that she did not come alone.” “A conspiracy for robbery?” “That is about the size of it, as it looks now.” “Do you think this affair in any way connected with the former larceny of the diamonds, when they were followed from South Africa?” “There is little doubt of it,” was the reply. “Who was with you to-night besides the dead man?” “Why, I was at rehearsal, as I told you at first. That is the way the diamonds came to be with me. They were to be used in the play, you know.” “And the members of the club knew that you had them with you?” “Of course. They admired them vastly.” “And who did you talk with about them; especially, I mean?” “Julius Mantelle, I think.” “Who is he?” “A recent acquaintance from Paris and a member of the club. During the rehearsal he made an appointment with me.” “Where were you going?” “Why, I told you about that. To the African fortune teller’s. We had a date for two o’clock, and we waited at the café, Townsend and I, for Julius to come.” “He did not arrive until after Townsend left?” “No. He went home with one of the ladies.” “Had you talked with Julius, as you call him, about the African fortune teller before to-night? You mean the fortune teller out on East Houston Street?” “Oh, yes, he had long promised to secure a private séance for Townsend and I, and to-night the chance came.” “What do you know of Julius Mantelle?” “Nothing.” “Is he in business?” “He is just a globe trotter, I think.” “Plenty of money?” “I think so. He never borrows.” “How long have you known him?” “About three months.” “He came from Paris to New York?” “So I am informed. That must be the clerk coming back, and there seems to be some one with him. I wonder if he called the police?” The next moment the door was thrust open, and the clerk, accompanied by a youth of breezy manners, swung into the room. Nick looked at them sternly, for he was not patient when disturbed at his work. “What do you want?” he asked. The young man, who was red-headed, freckled-faced, and the owner of a perennial smile, advanced toward the detective.