A few hours’ rest put them in shape, and next morning at nine, Nick started Chick and Patsy off for Forty-fourth Street, suitably disguised. Chick was to post himself at the front of the Montgomery House, and Patsy at the rear. When they had been gone a half-hour, Nick left the house in his make-up of “Jones of Albany.” He hired a cab, and was driven to the Montgomery House. A man in a white suit was working in the street in front of the house, and this man was Chick. Nick told the cabby not to wait, paid him and ascended the steps and pushed the electric bell. A housemaid came to the door. “I would like to see Mr. Montgomery,” said Nick. “He’s not at home, sir.” “Then I would like to speak with Miss Louise Lansing.” “She is not well this morning.” “I think she will see me. I wish to talk with her about her brother.” A voice from the second floor came down the stairway behind the maid. “Have the gentleman come in, Mary. Show him up to uncle’s study--I will see him there.” Nick was admitted and ushered up the broad stairs into a large room, lined with books and comfortably furnished. An open desk, strewed with papers, was at one end of the room. A young lady of eighteen or nineteen, very pretty but very much depressed, as Nick could see, met him as he came in. Her eyes were red, and it was evident that she had been weeping. “Miss Lansing?” the detective asked. “That is my name, sir.” “My name is Jones; I’m from Albany, and----” “I heard you tell the servant that you wished to speak with me about my brother,” broke in the girl, eagerly. “Do you know anything about him? He has been gone since Monday night, and the suspense of not knowing whether he is living or dead is more than I can bear. He disappeared from Boston, as perhaps you know.” “I will tell you about your brother in a few moments, Miss Lansing. First, however, I would like to ask about your uncle, Mr. Montgomery.” “Do you know whether John is alive? Oh, tell me that before anything else!” “Is your uncle in the house?” asked Nick. “Did not the servant tell you he was gone?” “When a servant tells a caller that her master is out, it does not always follow that he is.” “My uncle is not in the house, Mr. Jones.” Nick passed to the study door and closed it. Then he came back and took a chair by the desk. “Your brother, Miss Lansing, is alive and well.” Louise clasped her hands, and a sigh of intense relief escaped her lips. “Oh, I am so happy!” she murmured. “You cannot tell, Mr. Jones, what a relief it is to me to know that. I will tell uncle just as soon as he comes.” “You must not tell your uncle, Miss Lansing,” said Nick, firmly. “Not tell uncle Horace?” she cried. “Why, what can you mean?” “Just what I say. In a little while your uncle will know everything, but just now he must know nothing. It is your brother’s wish as well as mine.” “But I cannot see why you make such a request,” said the girl, perplexedly.