Excerpt: "Nick Carter did not interrupt the sobbing girl. He listened patiently, grave and attentive, letting her run on in broken, desultory phrases, until her first paroxysm of grief immediately following his arrival should abate sufficiently for her to tell him connectedly what had occurred. “They may say what they will—what they will, Mr. Carter, but I cannot believe it, will not believe it,” she tearfully declared. “My faith in him is unshaken. He is incapable of such deceit, such cruelty, such terrible treachery. He is the victim of a plot, a hideous conspiracy, or some terrible crime—oh, I am sure of it! He would not betray me in this way, not for life itself! I know he would not. Arthur is above such duplicity, such terrible——” Nick now checked her with a gesture. “I agree with you, Miss Strickland,” he said kindly. “Arthur Gordon is, in my opinion, a thoroughly honorable man. As you are so sure of it, too, and that he is the victim of a conspiracy, you best can serve him by subduing your agitation, and telling me precisely what has occurred. I can do nothing, nor form any opinion of the case, until I know all of the circumstances.” “Mr. Carter is right, Wilhelmina,” said her elderly uncle, Mr. Rudolph Strickland. “It is very kind of him to come out here, with his assistant, this morning. Dry your eyes, therefore, or let me talk with him. I can inform him, Mina, better than you.” “Do so, Mr. Strickland,” said Nick, turning to him. “What has befallen Arthur Gordon, as far as you know?” The scene of this interview, which was the beginning of one of the most extraordinary criminal cases in the career of the famous detective, was the library of a new and exceedingly fine wooden residence in one of the most beautiful rural sections of the Bronx."
