These facts related to Badger’s wife and her sister, the Tremont Street fortune-teller, and were imparted to Nick a bit maliciously by a broker who had suffered in one way or another through Madame Victoria, and who was informed of the history of the two women. Briefly stated, as it was given to Nick, both were born in England, the daughters of a second-rate actor and manager of various itinerant amusement enterprises, in none of which he had achieved any great success. The two girls had some little talent in one way or another, however, and both had spent their earlier years in the show business, filling such positions as the various enterprises of their father, since dead, required. Now as an alleged gipsy fortune-teller, now as a palmist, at other times an astrologer, or some like attraction under a different name, but always as a sideshow to some other amusement, the younger of the two had acquired that experience which, after the marriage of her sister and her coming to America, had enabled her to establish in Boston the business now conducted under the name of Madame Victoria. The elder of the two, now Badger’s wife, had sung on the stage, done turns in the concert-halls, and in earlier years had been an accomplished equestrienne in the circus-ring, from the first of which Badger had married her in Manchester, about five years before. That both women were little more than adventuresses of a rather disreputable type, Nick’s informant positively assured him, and this further confirmed his theory and convinced him that he was on the right track. It was early afternoon when he arrived at police headquarters, in Pemberton Square, and entered the general office previously described. It so happened that Chief Weston was in this office at the time, though all of the detectives not then assigned to outside work were either out at lunch or in the officers’ lounging-room. It so happened, also, since Satan sometimes serves his own, that the only other occupant of the general office was the clerk whom Nick had encountered there several days before—Mr. Sandy Hyde. The brick-hued head of the latter was raised from over his books upon hearing the detective’s name mentioned in greeting, and his catlike eyes lighted with quickened interest. “Ah, good morning, Nick!” was Chief Weston’s greeting. “Anything doing?” “I wish to return these reports, chief, which I took from you a few days ago,” replied Nick, producing them from his pocket. “No further use for them?” “Not at present.” “Very well.” “I will retain this photograph, however, which I may use to advantage a little later.” “You’ve not hit upon a clue from that, have you?” “Well, I’m not prepared to say,” demurred Nick, a bit evasively. “Come inside,” Chief Weston abruptly said, quick to notice Nick’s hesitation. “We shall not be interrupted in my office. Bear that in mind, Sandy.” “All right, chief.” “This way, Nick.”