“By telephone?” inquired Weston, wondering at the wish. “No, personally.” “You may easily do so by going out to Brookline.” “I’ll go!” exclaimed Nick, abruptly rising. “I suppose I may keep this photograph for a short time?” “Certainly.” “As regards my undertaking to round up the rascals guilty of these robberies—well, I will give you my answer a little later,” Nick went on to say, as he opened the door by which he had entered. “I have no doubt, old friend, that it will be a favorable answer.” “I hope so, Nick, I’m sure,” declared Weston, as he followed the former into the outer office, where Nick briefly halted. Sanderson Hyde, perched upon a stool in the enclosure, appeared busy over his books, not so much as looking up at the intruders. “Are you going out at once?” inquired Weston. “Yes,” replied Nick, slipping the photograph into his pocket. “There are a few questions I wish to ask Mrs. Amos Badger. If I can find a public automobile, Weston, I think I will go out there in it. It’s the quickest conveyance, and this is a fine morning for a ride.” “You’ll find what you want at the corner below,” replied Weston. “The machine is all right, and so is the man. Grady is his name. Mention mine, Nick, and there’ll be no charges.” “Oh, I’ll see that Grady gets his fee, all right,” laughed Nick, as he turned to leave the office. “I’ll see you later, Weston, probably early this afternoon.” “Do so,” nodded the latter. Then he turned to the busy clerk and added, a bit sharply: “What did you say to that man, Hyde, when he came in here this morning?” Young Sanderson Hyde looked up with raised brows. “Nothing of consequence, chief,” he respectfully answered. “Only a few words about sending in his card.” “Do you know the man?” “No, sir. I don’t recall ever having seen him.” “Well, the next time you see him take a good look at him, for that man is Nick Carter, the greatest detective that ever stood in leather.” “The dickens!” gasped Hyde, with manifest astonishment. “You don’t mean it, chief! Not Nick Carter himself?” “I always say what I mean,” growled Weston. “Hereafter, show him into my office without delay.” The catlike eyes followed the burly figure of the speaker as he returned through the passage, and presently the snap of the catch-lock sounded through the office. Then Mr. Hyde laid down his pen and came out of the enclosure. His tread was more light and cautious than ordinary business should have required. He glanced sharply into both of the adjoining corridors, listened intently for a moment, then darted into a telephone-closet near-by and tightly closed the door. Nick Carter found Grady on the corner mentioned, a shrewd-looking young Irishman, seated in an excellent runabout, reading the morning newspaper. “Do you know Laurel Road, Brookline, Mr. Grady?” asked Nick, halting beside the machine. “I know pretty near where it is, sir,” said Grady, alert for business. “I can find it for you, all right.”