He lifted his hat in salutation, and was surprised to see her state of wonder and doubtful return of the recognition. He smiled as he thought swift forgetfulness of himself was not flattering. Excusing it on the ground that she was troubled over the death of her favorites, he passed on into the street and went home, where he related the peculiar occurrence that had successfully driven away his fit of the “blues.” A short time after his arrival the servant announced Mrs. Constant. Nick directed that the lady should be shown into the room he was occupying. Edith, Nick Carter’s wife, who was also in the room, arose to go, but before she could leave the apartment, Mrs. Constant entered, and exclaimed: “Why, Edith!” Edith responded by running across the room to Mrs. Constant, crying: “Why, Blanche!” All this was very surprising to Nick, who could not imagine how it was that his wife knew his client. But, as he listened, he found that before Edith’s marriage Mrs. Constant had been a member of the same theatrical company with Edith, and, like Edith, had left the stage when she married. Then that which had before puzzled him was made plain. He knew that he had seen Mrs. Constant before when presented to her by the banker at the dog show. It was all explained. He had seen her on the stage as Blanche Romney. When at length the ladies had finished their renewal of old times, Mrs. Constant turned to that which had brought her to Nick. “I hardly know how to begin my story, Mr. Carter,” she said, “but I will tell you how I came to be an exhibitor of dogs at the show. My late husband was much interested in developing a certain strain of setters. “As I am a great lover of dogs, I took a vast interest in the kennel, and soon came to know quite as much about it as he, taking my part in the management and supervision of it. “I came to know what he was striving to do, and so, when he died and left all his dogs to me, I determined to carry out his plans and continue the kennel. “Mr. Constant died very suddenly. The doctors called it apoplexy. He was in good health and was stricken down without warning. “It is too late now to determine it, but I cannot rid myself of the idea that foul play was at the bottom of his death.” “When did he die?” asked Nick. “Nearly two years ago.” “At his home?” “He was brought home, but was taken ill at his club. I had gone over to Philadelphia early in the morning, not to return until the next day, so he dined at his club. The doctors insisted that he had been imprudent at the table, eating and drinking too much. “Mr. Constant was a free liver, and that gave a basis for their decision. But if I tell you that Mr. Constant was a wine-drinker, do not believe that he used it in excess. He did not. “Now I come to that which is unpleasant. His marriage to me was not agreeable to his family. They opposed it bitterly.