Excerpt: "On the shady veranda of an old-fashioned Southern house, on the outskirts of St. Louis, two men in the prime of life were enjoying their cigars one fine morning. One, the younger, with a fair, full face and honest, gray eyes, after a long period of silence, said "To-morrow will decide her fate, Nick. You have worked up a strong case against her, but I am afraid of the jury." "The jury is all right. We have seen to that, John. Conviction is certain. It has been an easy case for me." The woman to whose trial reference had been made had killed her husband, but the deed had not been witnessed, and it was due to Nick Carter's efforts that a complete case for the prosecution had been made out. "Murder is a secret of such awful weight," said Nick, "that there are few men, to say nothing of women, who are able successfully to carry it." "It will out some time or other, eh?" "In the majority of cases, yes. Of course, there are[6] instances where the crime of taking human life has remained an unsolved and seemingly insoluble mystery, but such instances have, in my opinion, resulted either through a chain of accidents, impossible to foresee, or through the negligence or inefficiency of the officers of the law, whose duty it was to use all possible skill and diligence in arriving at the facts. In this woman's case we have, I think, exercised all necessary skill and diligence. To-morrow the end will come, and the next day I shall be on my way to New York." "You have been here but a week, Nick, and yet I feel as if I had known you a lifetime. When you introduced yourself as an old friend of my mother, I knew in a moment that I had myself found a friend, and one after my own heart.""