Mignon led the way upstairs, and ushered the officer into the back parlor, the doors dividing the parlors being closed. Louise Calhoun was in the front parlor, and when Miss Field returned to her, she expressed surprise at the young lady’s long absence. “One of the servants wished to see me,” was Mignon’s ready excuse. Then, taking up the conversation where they had left off, she said: “You think that if a larger amount of money was offered, my father would be returned? We have already offered a reward of ten thousand dollars, you know.” “If he has been kidnaped, as the police think,” said Louise, “you may depend upon it that the villains who have him will ask more than that. How the poor dear gentleman must have suffered!” The brazen creature applied a small handkerchief to her eyes and pretended to weep, while between her bogus sobs she whispered, loud enough for her companion to hear, however: “Night after night I lie awake crying; oh, I hope they have not killed him.” Pretty Mignon Field mingled her tears with the base counterfeits of her visitor. After Louise had gone through her comedy part and the young girl had dried her eyes, the latter said: “How large a reward should I offer?” “I would not publish a reward,” was the advice of the other. “Then how are the rascals to know what we are willing to pay?” “Put it in the hands of a detective.” “The money?” “No,” replied Louise; “although I would give him a few thousands to work on.” “I have a detective.” “You have?” “That is--I mean to say,” replied Mignon, in some confusion, “I mean to hire one, or a dozen for that matter.” “I know one that would suit you,” remarked the visitor. Nick Carter’s name was on the banker’s daughter’s lips, but she did not mention it, and, indeed, its owner, on the other side of the parlor door, feared that in an unguarded moment she would. “I have talked with nearly all the detective sergeants at headquarters,” said Mignon. “Does he belong to that squad?” “Not he.” This was said with a slight show of indignation. “He is far above those fellows; there is not a first-class detective among them.” Again did the name of Nick Carter tremble on the girl’s lips. “He was formerly a secret service officer,” continued Louise, “but he retired long ago.” “I don’t see why he could help to solve the mystery any better than any other detective.” “I do,” said the visitor; “there is not a low character in the city that his long arm can’t reach, and I will guarantee, if you furnish him with a few thousand dollars to work on, he will return your father within forty-eight hours.” “I would like to see this man,” said Mignon. “Will you bring him here?”