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When Nick Carter dashed up to the front entrance of Crownledge in his own big touring car, with Danny Maloney at the wheel, he found Claudia Solado on the porch, looking for him.

“Oh, Mr. Carter! I’m so glad you have come. He’s gone!”

“Who? My assistant?”

“Marcos, my cousin.”

“What do you mean? That there have been two disappearances?”

“Yes. Did they go together?”

“We don’t know.”

“Where was Marcos when he vanished?”

“The last seen of him was when he went into his bedroom to lie down for a nap. He is not strong, and Phillips advised him to take a sleep. He thought that a good idea, and Phillips went with him. My cousin leaned on his arm, and I noticed how pale and weak he seemed as he left the library, where he had been sitting.”

“What does Phillips say about the disappearance? How long did he stay in the bedroom?”

“Only while my cousin lay down on the outside of the bed, with a quilt over him. Phillips put the quilt on, saw that he was comfortable, and that the electric-bell button, hanging loosely to a wire, was within reach of his hand on the pillow, so that he could call any one he might want without getting up. He told Jason to look in now and then, without disturbing my cousin.”

“Who is this Jason? Was he born in Joyalita?”

“No. I think he came from New York about a year ago,” replied the girl. “I am not sure. You know, English is the tongue generally spoken in Joyalita, although there is some little Spanish. Jason speaks English, but I fancy I detect a certain twang that you hear from many people in New York, especially those who were born there.”

“We’ll have Jason into the library and hear what he has to say,” announced Nick, as he went into that room with Claudia.

“Jason has gone!”

It was the cool voice of Phillips. He had heard the conversation between Claudia and the detective, and had followed them into the library.

“Where’s he gone?” demanded Nick Carter.

“I don’t know, sir. I might say, if you please, that I have not been quite satisfied with Jason since we have been here,” ventured Phillips.

“Why?”

“He has twice, to my knowledge, been away all night, without any one knowing it but me. He seemed very tired when he returned on both occasions. He told me he had been sitting up with a friend of his who was sick, and who lived downtown somewhere.”

“Did you prove that to be untrue?” asked the detective.

“No, sir. But I took the liberty of examining his trunk one day when I had sent him on an errand that would keep him away for two hours. In the trunk I found two valuable watch movements——”

“Watch movements?”

“Yes, sir. The cases were not there. Just the movements. I was a watchmaker once, and I know the value of such things, although they are not easily disposed of, except to a watchmaker who might happen to want them.”

“I understand,” interrupted Nick. “What else did you find in his trunk? Anything suspicious?”

“Yes. There were two chisels, a pointed crowbar, or ‘jimmy,’ a pair of fine steel pliers, and an automatic revolver.”

“I wonder whether they are in his trunk now?”

“No, sir. I have looked in it, and there is nothing but the ordinary clothing, and not much of that.”

“He is in his regular livery, is he?”

“No, sir. He never wears that when he goes out on his private business. Even the trousers he changes, although there is nothing distinctive about them except a blue stripe down the outside of each leg, which would hardly be seen at night, anyhow.”

“How did you open the trunk? Wasn’t it locked?”

“No. And that is where I look upon Jason as a man of particular cunning,” replied Phillips. “He must have found out that I had been examining his belongings—or suspected it. So he had shut down the trunk, without locking it, and put some of his clothes on top. That would enable him to see if I disturbed anything.”

“Not if you put them back the same way,” suggested Nick. “You could do that, couldn’t you?”

“I tried. But Jason is a cunning rascal, I’m afraid, and he would be pretty sure to see that some one had been at his trunk.”

“If you think he is dishonest, why do you keep him here? Mr. Joyal—the prince—would allow you to discharge him if you thought it well to do so, wouldn’t he?”

“Yes. But I want to keep Jason till I can catch him in the act. Then I may find out several things that are distressing me. Mr.—er—Joyal has missed some valuable property, and we think Jason is the man who took it.”

“What kind of property?”

Phillips looked from side to side, as if to make sure no one should overhear. Then he whispered:

“The Seal of Gijon is gone.”

“I have heard of it,” answered the detective. “It is a jeweled watch, with a diamond-mounted fob.”

“That’s it, sir,” nodded Phillips. “The prince—I mean, Mr. Joyal—lost it several days ago. He is very anxious about it.”

“Does he suspect Jason?”

“No, sir. There would have been no use in telling him that Jason was acting peculiarly until I had proof.”

“What theory have you of the disappearance of Mr. Joyal?” asked the detective, changing the subject abruptly.

“None at all, sir. I can’t account for it.”

“Well, you keep a close watch around Crownledge. I may be back here this evening.”

“I hope you will find Mr. Joyal.”

“I will try,” returned Nick, as he went out of the room, with Claudia by his side.

They walked to the front porch together. When Nick Carter had thrown a glance around, to make sure they were not followed, and that no one could overhear, he said to the girl, in a low tone:

“I wish you would stay at Crownledge for the remainder of the day, if you can. Keep a watchful eye on everything. It may be that Marcos has gone out for something that he thinks he should attend to promptly in his own person, and that my assistant has gone with him as a sort of bodyguard.”

Claudia shook her head incredulously.

“I can hardly think that. My cousin would most likely have told me or Phillips, or both of us, if he had intended to be away even for half an hour. Besides, he was lying down when last seen by Phillips.”

“Well, at all events, if you can stay here for the remainder of the day, it may help us materially. I still intend to leave here to-night with Marcos for Joyalita, if possible. If not, we will go not later than to-morrow.”

“Do you know where Marcos is, then?”

“I know where he may be,” answered Nick. “I am going to see.”

His touring car was still at the front steps. With a smiling farewell and lifting of his hat to the girl, the detective took his place in the car and directed Maloney to take him home.

When Nick Carter told Claudia that he knew where Marcos might be, he was not speaking without reason. Nor was his guess so wild as to be almost uncertainty.

True, as he had come to his conclusion by a process of induction only. But it was a process that had served him well at every stage of his career, and he had the faith in it that is based on proven tests.

When he reached the porch of Crownledge with Claudia Solado, and glanced around him, his eye lighted on a trifle which his quick brain told him might not be such a trifle, after all.

Without the girl observing him, he stopped suddenly and picked up a small cake of mud and grass that evidently had dropped from somebody’s shoe. From the shape of it, Nick knew that it had been wedged into the instep of a rather large shoe which must have belonged to a man.

The mass of soil, with half a dozen clipped-off blades of grass embedded in it, had filled all the space in the instep between the heel and the beginning of the sole.

When the detective picked it up, he held it carefully in the fingers of his left hand, so that it should preserve its shape until he was ready to examine it at his leisure. He held his hand at his side, and the girl took no notice of it.

Until the car reached Madison Avenue, and he had told Danny Maloney, the chauffeur, that he might want him again at night, but that he need not stay any longer then, Nick Carter contented himself with surveying his prize casually as it lay flat on the palm of his hand.

No sooner was he locked in his library, however, than he closed the blinds, and, having lighted a cigar, turned his strong incandescent light down upon his table.

On a sheet of white paper he laid the mass of mud and grass.

It was nearly dry. Therefore, it was possible to handle it without its losing its shape.

“I don’t think I can be mistaken,” muttered Nick. “I think I know this wiry grass too well, and this sandy mud is of a kind that is not found in many places hereabouts. However, I’ll look at it through my glass.”

He took a very strong magnifying glass from his table drawer and studied the mixture for nearly half a minute.

As he put the glass down, a satisfied smile flickered across his strong face.

“There is just one more test,” he muttered. “Although I believe it is superfluous. However, here goes.”

He put the tuft of grass to his tongue.

“I knew it,” was his soft exclamation. “Salt! It could not be anything else.”

He pressed a push button at the side of his table, and then unfastened the door of the room. As he returned to his seat, he puffed contentedly at his cigar, still regarding the mud and tuft of grass on the white paper.

“Want me, chief?”

A young fellow, with the bright, alert expression on his rather thin features that tells of an active brain, stood in the doorway.

“Yes, Patsy! Close the door and come over here.”

The young man obeyed, and Nick Carter pointed to the stuff on the paper on his table.

“What’s that, Patsy?”

Patsy Garvan—for it was the trusted young assistant of that name who had come in—bent closely over the paper and studied the grass for a moment.

“I should say it is salt meadow grass,” he answered.

“Why do you think so?”

“It is coarse, and there is a color to it you don’t see in any other kind. If you’ll let me taste it, I can tell you.”

Nick Carter laughed and drew several whiffs of smoke from his cigar before he spoke again.

“That’s just what I did, Patsy,” he said, at last. “Put your tongue to it and let me know what you think.”

Patsy lifted the paper and put out his tongue.

“I should say so,” was his remark, as he replaced the paper and its contents on the table. “Gee! You couldn’t fool me on that. Where did you get it?”

“Never mind about that, Patsy. Where do you suppose this grass and mud came from?”

“Hackensack meadows, of course! Have you been over there?”

“No. But the man from whose shoe this came must have been. Look here Patsy! Chick has been taken away against his will——”

“What?” blurted out Patsy Garvan. “Chick? Say! Let me——”

“And one of the men who took him dropped this mud and grass from his shoe.”

“He did? Say, chief! We’re going after Chick right away, ain’t we?”

Patsy was on his feet, his fists clenched, and anger blazing all over his face.

He had a regard for Chick only second to that he felt for Nick Carter himself. The thought of his chum being held anywhere made him frantic.

“Keep cool, Patsy! We’ll go, of course! But we’ll have to be careful.”

“How do you mean careful?”

“This is the open season for duck hunting, and there are any number of ducks over there, in the meadows.”

“Sure! But I don’t quite get you? What do I care for the darned ducks?”

“Put on that leather coat you have,” directed Nick calmly. “And your high boots, as well as your big corduroy cap. Get your double-barreled gun and that string of wooden decoy ducks we used down on the Chesapeake two years ago. You have them, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Don’t be more than ten minutes. Then come down to the library again. I’m going to put on my duck-hunting rig, too.”