“I am to blame for the intrusion,” he said. “I’m a reporter, and want to know all about this murder and the loss of the diamonds. Which is Mr. Charles Maynard, and which is Mr. Nicholas Carter, the famous detective? Ah! the coroner has not been called as yet. Here is the body of the murdered man. What luck! Now, if you will stand aside, I’ll take a snapshot of it.” The young man began arranging a camera which he carried in his coat pocket. Nick took him by the back of the neck and landed him outside the door. “Now, keep out of here,” he said. “And you, too,” he added, turning to the clerk. “Oh, you can’t stop the press,” shouted the reporter, pounding on the door. “I’ve got the story right here. And another one to boot. Young girl mysteriously murdered half an hour ago in a tenement on East Houston Street. Beautiful girl! I took her picture.” Nick opened the door. “Come in here and tell me about it,” he said. “Oh, you have thawed out, have you?” said the young man. “Well, I don’t know much about the case. The girl had been out during the night, I take it. Anyway, there was a row, and the girl was stabbed. The people of the tenement declare they had a row over diamonds, or something of that sort. I’m going back there right now. Want to come with me?” “It may have some connection with this case,” whispered Maynard to the detective. “Diamonds in the case, you know.” “I was just thinking of that,” said Nick, “but I am not entirely satisfied that this young man is just what he pretends to be.” “I might go back with him and find out,” suggested Maynard. For a moment Nick made no reply. CHAPTER XIII. INTO THE TRAP. “No,” said the detective presently, “I think I’d better go myself, though it may be a trap. Hold these people here while I slip down to the phone.” During the absence of the detective the red-headed young man moved swiftly about the room. To Maynard he seemed to be looking for something. He hung constantly in the vicinity of the chair upon which the murderer’s clothing had been placed after the exchange of garments. Once or twice he got down on the floor and examined the carpet. Maynard thought this remarkable, but said nothing. When Nick returned from the phone booth and the young man was still busy in his search of the room, Maynard explained his actions to the detective, who smiled and said not a word in reply. “Well, I’ve got to get a move on,” said the young fellow, in a moment. “Are you chaps coming with me?” “We must wait for the coroner,” replied Nick. And so they waited, while the young man fumed up and down. Nick turned to the clerk again, motioning him into the hall, where he followed. “When Townsend entered the office,” he asked, “how did you know that he was the one this Martin Haynes had asked for?” “Oh, Haynes gave me a description and a name.” This set Nick to thinking on new lines for a moment. Then he said: