The figure was that of a girl, rather than a woman, apparently about eighteen years of age. She was lying partly upon her side upon the greensward, and evidently had fallen from one of the park seats upon which she had been resting, and upon which her straw shade hat was still lying. She was neatly clad in a suit of dark blue, and her girlish face indicated some culture and refinement. Near her, upon the grass, lay a piece of brown wrapping paper, and a yard of two of string, evidently removed from a small, square box, which she had dropped and partly fallen upon when stricken with sudden death. A mere glance gave Nick these superficial features, and he quickly knelt beside the girl, and felt her hand and wrist. "Dead as a doornail," he murmured to Chick, who also had approached. "I find her hand still warm, however. She can have been dead only a few minutes." "Heart failure, perhaps," suggested Chick. "I don't think so." "Why?" "She doesn't look it. Her form is plump, her cheeks full, and she appears to have been in perfect health." "Yet she is dead." "No doubt of it." "A pretty girl, too." "Very. See if there is any writing on that brown paper." "No, Nick; not a line." "Here, here, let me see it! What's this? It is punctured with tiny holes, evidently made with a pin." "So it is, by Jove!" "Perhaps she made them with her hat pin, while sitting there on the seat. See, Chick, there is the pin still in the hat." "I see it, Nick. What now?" Still kneeling beside the girl, Nick was holding the sheet of paper between himself and the sky. "No, the punctures are not uniform," said he. "I thought that they possibly had been made with some design, and perhaps formed some word or sentence that would give us a clew to the mystery." "None such, eh?" "Not a sign of it. Evidently she jabbed the pin through the paper only in idleness." "She is lying on a box of some kind, from which she probably had taken this wrapping paper." "So I see," nodded Nick. "Lend me a hand, Chick, and we'll have a look at the box." With gentle hands the two detectives moved the girl's lifeless form, and Nick then took up the box mentioned. It was about four inches square, and was made of silver, with an open work design of vines and leaves, which displayed a blue silk lining through the metal apertures. Plainly enough it was a lady's jewel casket, and one of considerable value; but it was entirely empty, and it bore no name or inscription. For several moments Nick Carter examined it very intently, with his brows gradually knitting closer and closer; and all the while Officer Fogarty, and the group of men in the gravel walk a few yards distant, mutely gazed and wondered. Chick Carter, however, who could read Nick's every change of expression, saw at once that the great detective not only was making some startling discoveries, but also was arriving at deductions far too subtle and significant to have been reached by any less keen and practiced observer.