“I suppose I must see her,” said Nick. “Show her up.” A few moments after a lady, young and handsomely attired, entered the apartment. Her face was covered with a veil, but when she had closed the door behind her, she threw it aside. A vision of surpassing loveliness burst upon the wounded man’s vision. She saw the effect and smiled. “I do not recognize you, madam,” said Nick Carter. “If ever I met you before I have certainly forgotten it, and it is hardly possible that one would forget such a face as yours.” “For the present call me Mignon.” “Well, Mignon, what can I do for you?” The officer smiled. “I can’t do much for myself just at present.” “What’s this?” exclaimed the woman, starting forward and snatching a phial from a small table at the side of the bed. “Medicine; the doctor sent it here but a few minutes ago,” answered the detective. “I was just about to take a spoonful, when you were announced.” “You have not taken any of it; you are sure?” Such was the intensity of her manner and her nervousness that the detective started. “No,” he replied; “but why do you ask? The physician attending me would not send me anything wrong; he is one of the foremost in his profession.” “Thank God you did not take it!” Mignon cried. “Your physician did not send you that. A few drops of it would cause your death in the most horrible agony. No antidote would save you.” She held the phial between her eyes and the light, saying: “There can be no doubt about it. It is corrosive sublimate.” “My enemies are still at work.” The doctor entered now and the lady placed the phial in his hand. “Did you send me that?” asked the detective, eagerly. “I did not send you anything,” was the reply, and spilling some of the stuff on a piece of paper, the physician pronounced it corrosive sublimate. “Look!” he said, holding the paper up for the wounded man’s inspection. The poison had eaten through it, and the exhibition of the paper caused Nick Carter, brave as he was, to shudder. He would not hesitate to meet in the performance of his duties any man living, but how was he to fight those secret means now used, and which would probably be used again to kill him? The surgeon examined his patient’s wound and, after dressing it, told Nick that it was healing rapidly. “When will I be able to get out?” the detective asked. “I must be up and doing as soon as possible, doctor.” “If you bundle your neck up well, and the weather is no more severe than to-day, you can go out to-morrow.” The doctor took his leave, but not before the detective exacted a promise from him not to say anything about this fresh attempt upon his life. When the door closed upon the physician, the detective stretched his hand to his visitor. “Oh, how can I thank you?” he said, as Mignon placed her small, soft hand in his. “Had you not come I would have drunk the poison, and now I would be a corpse. You have, indeed, saved my life. But how was it that you recognized the stuff?”