“I do not want them now,” said Nick, as Mrs. Constant showed signs of attempting to recite them. “Now, as to the injuries he attempted to do your husband. Can you prove those charges?” “Yes; after my husband’s death I found among his private papers a package, which tells it all. My husband must have gathered them for a purpose that his death defeated.” “Can you let me have that package?” “Yes; whenever you like.” “Will you let me have it at once?” “I will bring it to you to-night.” “Very well, Mrs. Constant. Say nothing to anybody that you have given the case to me.” “Masson will know it.” “Why?” “If he does not know now, he will in a short time, that I have come to see you. He has me under espionage—every step I take he has followed.” “So bad as that?” asked Nick. With this Mrs. Constant went away, after saying to Edith, who had been an interested listener, that now, having met again, they must not lose sight of each other. “What do you think of it, Nick?” asked Edith. “A rather strange story, but there is more behind it than she has told—perhaps more than she really knows. When you knew her what sort of reputation did she bear?” “The very best,” declared Edith. “Blanche was a good girl, Nick. She was so light-hearted and full of spirits in those days, so gay, that sometimes she was misunderstood, but there was not the least harm in her.” “Well, Edith, I fancy you will have some detective work to do.” “In what way?” “She knows more than she thinks she does. You must get her to talk confidentially to you, and these things may crop out. “Again, there are things she shied away from telling me, especially when you were present, but she will tell them to you.” “I’ll do what I can.” After dinner that evening Nick went out for a short time, and, returning, as he was about entering his house a carriage drove up and some one, leaning from it, called him by name. Turning back, he saw Mrs. Constant. He went to the carriage door, and the lady thrust out a package to him, saying: “I am so glad to have seen you here. I am so hurried—so little time. It’s the package—Blanche, that is, Mrs. Constant, you know. By-bye, I must hurry. Please tell the driver to go on.” Nick did so, wondering at her haste, and as the carriage drove off entered his house. CHAPTER XII. DEAD IN HER CARRIAGE. Nick sat down to study the package Mrs. Constant had given him, having some knowledge of the persons the package was supposed to tell about. He knew Albert Constant had been a man of no occupation in life, living on his income; that his family was wealthy, and about the most exclusive in the city. That his marriage to Blanche had been violently opposed by it, not alone because she was an actress, but because she was of that rank of life which his family believed was much below his own.