The mammoth vaudeville troupe had completed its engagement, and was now disbanded for the season.

Senora Cervera still retained her uptown house, and frequently received Venner as a visitor; but never a sign of the diamond gang, or of any stranger, could the detectives discover, in or about her place.

Rufus Venner was attending to his business as usual, and appeared all aboveboard.  Now and then he called upon Nick about the stolen diamonds, expressing a hope that they would be recovered; but in no way did he lay himself open to further suspicions than Nick had at first conceived.

Yet Nick was too shrewd to press him with questions, and so perhaps betray his own hand.  As a matter of fact, the famous detective was in quite a quandary over the case, because of his conviction that some big game was secretly afoot, and his utter inability to strike any tangible clew to it.

Such a state of affairs was very unusual, and Nick chafed under it.  It indicated that he was up against men as good as himself, and his vain work of the past ten days served only to aggravate him, and embitter his grim and inflexible determination to unearth the whole business.

This Monday afternoon, as Nick and Chick were passing Central Park, the attention of the latter was drawn toward a group of men in one of the park walks, somewhat removed from the street.  A policeman was among them, and they appeared to be gazing at something upon the ground.

“It looks like the figure of a woman,” said Nick, as he and Chick entered the park.  “Officer Fogarty is there, and—­yes, by Jove! it is the form of a woman.”

The two detectives quickly reached the scene, and the park officer at once recognized Nick, respectfully touching his helmet.

“What’s amiss here, Fogarty?” inquired Nick.

Fogarty pointed to the motionless form upon the ground.

“Dead!” said he, tersely.  “We’ve just found her.”

“Keep those people further away, Fogarty,” said Nick, with a toss of his head toward half a score of men gathered near by.  “I will see what I make of the case.”

The figure was that of a girl, rather than a woman, apparently about eighteen years of age.  She was lying partly upon her side upon the greensward, and evidently had fallen from one of the park seats upon which she had been resting, and upon which her straw shade hat was still lying.  She was neatly clad in a suit of dark blue, and her girlish face indicated some culture and refinement.

Near her, upon the grass, lay a piece of brown wrapping paper, and a yard of two of string, evidently removed from a small, square box, which she had dropped and partly fallen upon when stricken with sudden death.

A mere glance gave Nick these superficial features, and he quickly knelt beside the girl, and felt her hand and wrist.

“Dead as a doornail,” he murmured to Chick, who also had approached.  “I find her hand still warm, however.  She can have been dead only a few minutes.”