he building. Nick glanced at the register, and saw
that "R.M. Clark and wife" had been assigned to room A, and "John Jones
and wife" to room B. Room C was vacant.

The detective had barely time to note these entries on the book when
Gaspard came running back.

His face was as white as paper, and his lips were working as if he were
saying something, but not a sound came from them.

He was struck dumb with fright. Whatever it was that he had seen must
have been horrible, to judge from the man's trembling limbs and
distorted face.

Nick had seen people in that condition before, and he did not waste time
trying to get any information out of Gaspard.

Instead, he seized the frightened fellow by the shoulder and pushed him
along toward the front of the house.

Gaspard made a feeble resistance. Evidently he did not want to see again
the sight which had so terrified him.

But he was powerless in Nick's grasp. In five seconds they stood before
the open door of room B.

The door was open, and there was a bright glare of gas within.

It shone upon the table, where a rich repast lay untasted. It illumined
the gaudy furnishings of the room and the costly pictures upon the
walls.

It shone, too, upon a beautiful face, rigid and perfectly white, except
for a horrible stain of black and red upon the temple.

The face was that of a woman of twenty-five years. She had very abundant
hair of a light corn color, which clustered in little curls around her
forehead, and was gathered behind in a great mass of plaited braids.

She reclined in a large easy-chair, in a natural attitude, but the
pallid face, the fixed and glassy eyes, and the grim wound upon the
temple announced, in unmistakable terms, the presence of death.

Nick drew a long breath and set his lips together firmly. He had felt
that something was wrong in that house. The waiter who had run across
the sidewalk and got into that carriage had borne a guilty secret with
him, as the detective's experienced eye had instantly perceived.

But this was a good deal worse than Nick had expected. He had looked for
a robbery, or, perhaps, a secret and bloody quarrel between two of the
waiters, but not for a murder such as this.

One glance at the woman showed her to be elegant in dress and of a
refined appearance.

She could have had nothing in common with the missing Corbut, unless,
indeed, he was other than he seemed.

Certainly, whatever was Corbut's connection with the