CHAPTER I.
WHY WAS IT DONE?

“Extraordinary—that doesn’t half express it. I know of no word that would. To some extent, Nick, at least, men’s motives are usually discernible in their conduct. But in this case—why, there was nothing to it. It is utterly inexplicable. It was like a horrid dream, a hideous nightmare, or the mental abnormalities of a dope fiend.”

Nick Carter laughed and spread his napkin, with a significant glance at his chief assistant, Chick Carter, who sat at one side of the table, that of a private dining room in a new and fashionable New York hotel.

“Well, Mr. Clayton, if the story you have to tell warrants so remarkable a preface, it will be interesting, at least,” said the famous detective.

“Yes, Nick, and then some,” Chick agreed, smiling. “He so has aroused my curiosity that I really am all ears.”

“I don’t think I shall disappoint you,” said their companion, more gravely.

He was a fashionably clad man of thirty-five, of medium build and with clean-cut, attractive cast of features, smoothly shaved. There was in other respects nothing specially distinctive about him. He was the type of well-bred, well-informed, and thorough business man with which New York City abounds.

“Aside from the pleasure of having you dine with me, I am very glad of the privilege of telling you about my extraordinary experience,” he added, gazing across the table at Nick. “I want your opinion about it. I was tempted to call on you for advice immediately after it occurred, but there were many reasons why I did not do so. I have been terribly busy, you know, since the opening of the new Westgate six months ago, when the directors gave me entire management of the house. Busy, Mr. Carter, is no name for it.”

“I can imagine so,” said Nick. “You certainly have a magnificent hotel here.”

“There is none better in the city, nor one more generously patronized by wealthy and fashionable people,” said Clayton, with a quiet display of pride. “We are getting the cream not only of local society, but also that of the traveling public. We are almost constantly crowded. It’s an honor, indeed, to be the sole manager of such a house.”

“I agree with you, Clayton, but you are the man for the position, I judge,” said Nick. “I guess the board of directors made no mistake.”

“It was partly due, perhaps, to my owning quite a block of the stock,” Clayton replied, with a smile. “Now, to return to the main matter, I will tell you of my extraordinary experience.”

“When did it occur, Clayton?” Nick inquired.

“Three months ago, Mr. Carter, during the first three days in September.”

“Three days, eh? It covered a considerable period.”

“A period of apprehension and anxiety beyond description.”

“Began at the beginning, Clayton, and tell me the whole business.”

“I can tell you only what occurred. It will be up to you to determine why it was done and what it signified.”

“I will endeavor to do so.”

“As is my custom once a week,” Clayton began, “I had been out to Washington Heights to dine with my mother, who di