Nick Carter responded immediately to Clayton’s urgent message. It was half past eleven when he entered the magnificent new Westgate, and almost the first person he saw in the spacious and elaborately designed rotunda and main office was one of the house detectives, Nat Webber, with whom he was well acquainted.
Webber saw him entering and hurried to meet him.
“I am looking for Mr. Clayton,” said Nick. “Where will I find him?”
“He is with Mademoiselle Falloni, in her suite on the fourth floor,” said Webber, with his face reflecting no end of conflicting sentiments. “She’s up in the air a mile. So is Madame Escobar, who has the adjoining suite. Clayton has it all over both of them, however, for he’s in the air out of sight. It’s my opinion, Carter, that he has suddenly gone daffy, as mad a
