“At Vassar College I took the full medical course,” she replied, “and besides, that is a poison easily recognizable.” “Won’t you be seated?” Nick said, “and tell me what I can do for you. First of all, tell me how you knew I was here.” “The story of your stabbing is in the morning papers.” “Those reporters seem to get hold of everything.” “I was very glad to learn where I could find you,” said Mignon, smiling sweetly, “because I wished to thank you.” “Thank me,” ejaculated the detective; “for what?” “Before answering your question,” she said, “I wish to put one to you. It is this: Do you think it improper for a lady to visit a gentleman’s sick chamber alone, when she has that to say which she does not care to have overheard?” She had not long to wait for an answer. “Most assuredly not; but you talk in enigmas to me.” “I am Hilton Field’s daughter.” Nick Carter almost lost his breath in astonishment. “Hilton Field’s daughter!” he muttered. “Yes,” Mignon replied; “and I would not have anyone else come and thank you for the message you sent to us yesterday afternoon but myself.” “Message?” repeated Nick, amazed. “Why, I sent no message.” “You forget, perhaps,” she said, and again that kind, sweet smile overspread her features. “Don’t you remember you sent to say that the body found in the river was not father’s, although it had on his clothing?” “I did not know myself yesterday afternoon,” said the detective, “of the imposture. I only learned it last night, and I have not spoken of the discovery to a living soul. There must be some other friend at work for you. Was my name signed to the message?” “No, it was a verbal one,” she replied; “the messenger said he was sent by you.” “What kind of looking person brought it?” Nick asked. “One of the queerest little fellows I ever saw,” answered Mignon. “He had a yellow dog with him, and when asked inside he insisted upon the dog coming in, too.” “Did he call the dog Crackers?” “Yes, and he informed us that he was to be entered for a prize at the dog show.” Nick Carter burst into a fit of laughter, which he suddenly checked, fearing his visitor might be offended at his unseemly mirth. “I know the little fellow,” he said; “he is called Tambourine Jack.” “He lifted a weight off our hearts, God bless him! I could have kissed him in the excess of my joy, ugly as he is.” The thought of this beautiful girl bestowing osculatory favors upon Tambourine Jack almost upset the detective’s gravity. “I have not seen the fellow in several days,” said the detective, “and, indeed, I would like to see him, to discover how he learned of the imposture tried by the villains who carried your father off.” “How could he have known of it, then?” the girl asked. “He is one of the gang,” answered Nick. “Oh! if I could but get out.” “You know our address?” “Yes.” “Will you inform me from time to time of the progress you make in your quest for father?” Mignon asked.