DETECTIVE NICK CARTER'S CASES - 7 Book Collection: The Great Spy System, The Mystery of St. Agnes' Hospital, The Crime of the French Café, With Links of Steel, Nick Carter's Ghost Story…. John R. Coryell

beginning to think that she is really the wife of our prisoner.”

      “It looks so,” said Nick.

      At that moment a card was brought in. The superintendent looked at it and whistled softly.

      Then he handed the card to Nick, who read the name. The two men exchanged glances, and both smiled.

      “Mrs. John Jones,” said Nick; “well, this puts a new face on the matter.”

      “It’s a great case,” was the reply. “I’m mighty glad you happened to be on the scene at once.”

      He turned to the officer who had brought the card, and directed that Mrs. Jones should be admitted immediately.

      A pretty young woman entered. She was of about the same height as the unfortunate victim of the tragedy in the restaurant, and much like her in build.

      The faces did not resemble each other in outline, but the coloring was similar. There was a faint resemblance in the large, light blue eyes.

      The hair was of the same peculiar shade, and nearly as luxuriant. But nobody would ever have mistaken one woman for the other, after a fair look at their faces.

      The costumes, however, were positively identical. Mrs. John Jones, to all appearances, wore the very same clothes as Nick had seen upon the woman in room B.

      Mrs. Jones was evidently very nervous, but she made a fine attempt to control herself.

      “You have my husband under arrest, I believe,” she said. “And he is accused, they say, of killing me.”

      She tried to smile, but it was rather a ghastly effort.

      The superintendent motioned the woman to a seat.

      “Mr. John Jones is here,” he said, “and he is suspected of murder.”

      “I have read about it,” replied the woman. “There certainly appeared to be evidence against him, but of course you must be aware that I know him to be innocent.”

      “How?”

      “Because I was with him when the crime was committed. At half-past seven o’clock of that evening we were walking toward the Grand Central Depot.

      “We had dined in our flat. The people who say they saw us go out tell the truth.

      “But we came back. It was my intention to take an afternoon train, but I decided to wait.

      “So we came back and had dinner. Nobody saw us go in or out of the flat.

      “After dinner we walked to the depot, and I took the eight-ten train for my home in Maysville, ten miles from Albany.

      “I arrived in Albany Wednesday morning, and remained there with friends throughout the day and night. Then I went to Maysville, where I heard the news, and came back at once.”

      The superintendent touched his bell. Two minutes later John Jones was brought into the room.

      “Amy!” exclaimed he. “How came you here?”

      He ran up to her, and they greeted each other affectionately. The woman, who had controlled herself up to this point, burst into tears. Jones turned in wrath toward Nick.

      “Haven’t we had enough of this infernal nonsense?” he exclaimed. “You have raised the devil with my business and scared my wife into a fit. Now let me out, and arrest the Ameer of Afghanistan. He had more to do with this affair than I did.”

      Nick did not reply, but he made a secret sign to the superintendent.

      “You are at liberty, Mr. Jones,” said Byrnes, calmly. “I regret that it was necessary to detain you so long.”

      “I have no complaint to make against you,” said Jones. “It was that man’s work, and he shall pay for it.”

      He scowled at Nick, and then, after bowing to the superintendent, walked out of the room with his wife on his arm.

      “Shall I call a man?” asked Byrnes.

      “If you please,” said Nick. “My force is pretty busy.”

      “Musgrave!” said the superintendent.

      A man appeared so suddenly that he seemed to come out of the wall.

      “Shadow the couple that has just left here,” said Byrnes. “You are under Mr. Carter’s orders until dismissed by him.”

      Musgrave turned to Nick.

      “I have no special instructions,” said Nick, “except that you keep your eyes on the woman.”

      The officer saluted, and vanished almost as quickly as he had come in.

      At half-past seven o’clock that evening Musgrave was on guard outside the flat, the address of which had been given to Nick by Jones.

      An old man selling papers came along the street, calling “Extra!” in a cracked voice.

      Musgrave bought a paper.

      “Well,” said the newsman, in Nick Carter’s voice, “what have you to report?”

      “From headquarters they went to an employment agency on Sixth avenue. They engaged a colored girl as a servant.

      “They then came straight here, and the girl followed them. Mr. and Mrs. Jones have not been out since.”

      “Are you sure of that?”

      “Perfectly. There is no way to get out of that house from the rear.”

      “How about the fire-escape?”

      “There is only that one on the side which you can see. The little yard back of the house is walled in by buildings.”

      “So Mr. and Mrs. Jones must be inside?”

      “Yes.”

      “And the girl?”

      “She is out. She has been going on errands half a dozen times, but usually to the grocer’s or the butcher’s around the corner. I don’t know where she has gone this time. She’s been out about a quarter of an hour.”

      “All right. I’m going over there.”

      Nick changed his disguise to that in which Jones had seen him. He did it in the hall of the flat house, while waiting for the door to be opened in answer to his ring.

      Jones met him on the upper landing.

      “Look here,” said Jones, when he recognized Nick, “isn’t this going a little too far? What do you want now?”

      “I would like to ask Mrs. Jones a few questions if you have no objections.”

      “I object very seriously.”

      “Will you ask her if she is willing to see me?”

      “No; I won’t.”

      “Then I shall have to use my authority.”

      “Don’t do that. Come now, be a good fellow. Amy is sick with all this worry. She’s just gone to bed. Let her alone until to-morrow.”

      “I will,” said Nick. “Good-night.”

      He descended the stairs and rejoined Musgrave, who was standing in a dark place on the opposite side of the street.

      “Have you seen a light in that window?” asked Nick, pointing to the flat.

      “No.”

      “Then Jones lied to me a minute ago when he said that his wife had just gone to bed. That window is in the principal bedroom of the flat.”

      “There’s been no light there.”

      “Then they’ve fooled you,