“I’ll telegraph to Chick and Patsy to come here,” he abruptly decided, as he returned to the Adams House, at which he had registered. “I shall need them to assist me in locating these road robbers, whom I am now fully resolved to run down. After sending a message to Chick I will have another bout with the fortune-teller. I’m blessed if I’ll let her throw me down in this fashion—not and keep me down!” It was but a short walk to the hotel, and there Nick sent a telegram to Chick Carter, his chief assistant, ordering him and Patsy, one of his younger detectives, to come to Boston by the first train and join him at the Adams House. Nick knew that both would arrive late that evening, and before then he hoped to have solved that portion of the mystery relating to the Tremont Street fortune-teller. After spending half an hour at lunch, Nick went up to his room and examined his disguise, which he had not removed. “It is perfect in every detail,” he mentally declared, while surveying himself in the mirror. “She cannot possibly have detected the make-up, and there must be some other explanation of her insinuations. I’ll take it off and visit her this time in proper person.” While removing the disguise, Nick noticed the carbuncle ring on his finger, and he immediately took it off and slipped it into the pocket of another suit he was then about putting on. “I’ll have nothing about me that she may have seen this morning,” he said to himself. “There’s a deal of crafty keenness in those bright eyes of hers, and I’ll make sure that she discovers nothing to identify me with her visitor by the name of Sibley. If she succeeds in doing that, the witch, there will be something more than natural in it—or some sort of rascally cunning at work under the surface. I’ll wager that she will have no impression of two men entering her room this time, nor that I was there this morning.” Fashionably clad, with his strong, attractive face inviting observation, Nick appeared for the second time at the rooms of Madame Victoria, just about an hour after leaving them. The girl in the waiting-room did not recognize him, and Nick took even the precaution to vary his voice several degrees from that he had previously used. “Is Madame Victoria disengaged?” he inquired. “She is, sir, just at present,” said the girl. “My card,” said Nick tersely. “I would like a business interview with her.” “One moment, sir.” The girl vanished into the inner room, then returned without the card. “Madame will receive you, Mr. Carter,” she said, bowing. Nick left his hat as before, and approached the inner room.