"Are you Mr. Carter--Detective Carter?" she hurriedly, inquired, in
tremulous accents of appeal.
Nick had a warm place in his heart for one so timid and distressed as
this girl appeared, and he bowed very kindly.
"Yes, Miss Page," said he. "What can I do for you? You appear to be in
trouble."
"I am in trouble--terrible trouble, sir," cried the girl, with a
half-choked sob. "Oh, Mr. Carter, I come to you in despair, a girl
without friends or advisers, and who knows not whither to turn. I have
been told that you have a kind heart, and that you are the one man able
to solve the dreadful mystery which--"
Nick cheered her pathetic flood of words with a kindly gesture.
"Calm yourself, Miss Page," said he, in a sort of paternal way. "Resume
your chair, please. Though I am somewhat pressed for time just now I
will give you at least a few moments."
"Oh, thank you, sir!"
"Be calm, however, in order that we may accomplish all the more."
"I will, sir."
"To what mystery do you refer? What is the occasion of your terrible
distress?"
Violet Page subdued her agitation and hastened to reply.
"My maid and companion, a girl named Mary Barton," said she, "was found
dead in Central Park late this afternoon.
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