As a matter of fact, he hardly believed that Vic would consent to comply with this request, but would evade it with some plausible excuse. Providing that she complied and went with him, however, Nick believed that he could so corner her with questions, while alone with her in a carriage, that he could finally force from her a confession of the whole business. In any event, moreover, he felt sure that he could so artfully take these steps that he would in no way sacrifice any of his present advantages. He found Vic Clayton alone in the handsomely furnished waiting-room, engaged in writing at an open desk in one corner. She had rearranged her hair and rouged her cheeks since Sandy Hyde’s departure, and she looked, as a matter of fact as well as of design, remarkably handsome and attractive. “Dear me!” she exclaimed, quickly dropping her pen upon seeing Nick enter. “Is it you, Detective Carter?” “None other,” bowed Nick, smiling. “I’m delighted!” cried Vic, rising to offer her hand. “I do hope you bring some encouraging news, or possibly my lost gems themselves—despite that I predicted only failure for you.” The last was added with a fascinating laugh, in which Nick was willing enough to join, though he found nothing inviting in her seductive eyes and alluring airs. “Well, hardly anything as favorable as that, Madame Victoria,” he began. “No, no, pardon me!” she interrupted, playfully tapping him on the arm. “You surely do not call again to consult me professionally?” “No, I do not.” “Then drop the Madame Victoria, my dear Mr. Carter, which is much too strained for friendly intercourse,” she softly cried, with an arch glance at him. “Let me be to you plain Miss Clayton—or even plain Victoria, so be it that suits you even better.” Nick experienced a vague feeling of distrust stealing through him as he looked and listened, but in his ignorance of what herein has been disclosed, he could find no definite grounds for the feeling. Yet, instinctively, as one sometimes dreads dangers still remote and visionary, he did not fancy this woman’s bantering remarks nor her playful attempts to captivate him. Nick laughed again, nevertheless, and agreeably rejoined: “As I told you the other day, Miss Clayton, it matters little to me what I call you, providing you consent to comply with my wishes.” “Your wishes?” “Yes.” “Dear me! I really think I should enjoy making them my own, Detective Carter,” murmured Vic, with a pretty cant of her head and a shrug of her shoulders. “I trust so.” “Have a chair.” “Thanks.” “Now what do you want of me this time, Detective Carter?” She had taken a seat near-by, still smiling archly at him, and Nick more gravely answered: “I want you to do me a little service.” “You have only to name it.” “I find you willing,” smiled Nick, a bit puzzled. “The pleasure is all mine,” laughed Vic. “Yet I’m really curious to know what you want of me.”