Suicide, or, Nick Carter and the lost Head

Excerpt: "“Slow down, Danny, and look out for that wire,” said Nick Carter to his chauffeur. “It may be a live one.” “I’m onto it, chief.” “Onto it, eh? Don’t you run onto it while I’m in the car, not if it’s a live one. You may fancy absorbing the output of an electric-lighting plant, but not for mine, Danny, not for mine! I know what it would do to me. I’ve seen men electrocuted.” Danny Maloney laughed, for it was obvious that the famous detective was jesting. “Onto it with my lamps, chief, is what I meant,” he replied. “Say what you mean, then,” said Nick, with a smile. “Precision is one of the valuable assets of a detective. Luckily, however, you are addressing one who can read between the lines—barring those of the ambiguous letter that brought us out here.” “Can’t you fathom it? It must be mighty blind, chief, if it fools you.” “On the contrary, Danny, it is perfectly plain—what there is of it,” said Nick dryly. “A woman, one Mrs. Myra Darling, states that she is in great trouble, that a very devoted friend of mine has advised her to appeal to me, and will I favor her with a call at my earliest convenience.” “That all?” questioned Danny tersely. “The whole business,” said Nick. “Of course, the appeal coming from a woman, I cannot turn it down. Noblesse oblige.” “You don’t know her?” “Not from a side of leather. I am acquainted with no Darling woman—suppress that smile, Danny. I know what you are thinking. But all women are not darlings—far from it.” “This one might be,” said Danny, his smile spreading to a grin."