“This beats the Dutch!” muttered the detective, as he left this place. “I don’t think it will pan out well to spend any further time in looking up the character of this girl. Everybody appears determined to speak well of her, and for the life of me I can’t attribute it to any gum game on her part, for each of these persons appears to speak from honest conviction.” Walking briskly along, his footsteps now turned in the direction of his home, he mentally said: “One of the next steps must be an attempt to find out something about Lorton.” By this time the day was well spent. CHAPTER XXII. THE BIRTHMARK. High noon was striking when Nick Carter entered Mr. Field’s palatial house the following day. Stepping into the hall he met Barnes. Offering him his hand, he said: “Well, I left you here when I went away, and I find you here now. Have you slept here?” With a laugh, the other replied: “Not quite so bad as that. I have been here the greater part of the time, though.” “Anything new turned up?” “Yes.” “What?” “A certain person has put in an appearance since last night.” “Who is it?” “A lady.” “Her name?” “Field.” “Ha! What does your answer imply?” “Can’t you guess?” “Mrs. Field has returned?” “She has!” “Does she bring any substantial proof of her identity?” “She brought no proof at all.” “Ah! How do you know that it is she?” “Because she was recognized.” “By whom?” “Several of the servants.” “How did she come?” “She came to the door and inquired for Miss Doane. She did not give her name or attempt in anyway to explain who she was, but the woman who saw her exclaimed: ‘You are my lady!’” “What was her reply?” “She said: ‘So you recognize me after all these years!’” “What then?” The other rejoined: “Don’t you think it would be as well for you to see the lady yourself?” And the detective said: “I think it would. Suppose you send her to me.” “Here?” “Yes. Or no, let her come to the back parlor, which is more private.” “Very; well.” Nick Carter had been an inmate of the back parlor only a few minutes when the rustling of a dress told him of the approach of a lady. Rising as she entered, he found himself facing a lady of most striking and graceful proportions, with queenly carriage. She was a person once seen, seldom forgotten, which fact, trivial as it was, had weight for him. “Pray be seated!” She uttered those words with the air and tone of one who had been accustomed to receiving and speaking with strangers. Her self-possession could never have been obtained save by familiarity with the duties of a hostess. As the detective accepted the invitation, she said: “I believe you wished to see me?” “I did and do.” “Mr. Barnes informed me that you are the detective who is engaged in trying to solve the mystery of my husband’s death or disappearance?” “I am.” “You think it possible that I may help you?” “Yes. You are Mr. Field’s wife?” “I am.”