“If you get a hot foot after you, don’t come here.”
“No; the coppers have had pointers enough already.”
“We may come back if we get the boodle and come out all right, though?”
Parks asked the question in a sneering tone.
“As you choose.”
Then Chick heard Parks and Nixon leaving the place, and heard Gilmore and Geary go up the cellar stairs.
He was practically alone in the cellar.
The man he had overpowered on entering lay unconscious by the bank vault.
“I got him through that partition just in time,” thought the detective, as he peered through the broken cellar wall, “for they would have hunted the place over until they found me, had they seen their chum lying there.”
According to instructions, Chick had slipped into the cellar during the fight in the dining room.
At first he thought himself alone in the place.
It was only when he passed through the door in the double wall, on the approach of the men from upstairs, that he realized that the gang had left a watchman there.
While Gilmore and Geary were talking on one side of the wall, the watchman and Chick were fighting desperately on the other side.
If Gilmore had remained in the cellar, Chick would certainly have been discovered.
As it was, the four men, after the arrival of Parks and Nixon, coolly planned the burglary on Forty-third Street, and then left the cellar.
Chick knew that his chief would follow anyone leaving the place that night, and that he would be likely to have something to say about the affair on the South Side.
He fairly ached to be with him.
He did not like the idea of being shut up in the damp cellar all night, and then having to fight his way out in the morning.
He reasoned in this way:
“I have found out all I can about the place.
“I have seen the electric motor.
“I have seen the broken cellar wall.
“I have seen the unprotected granite wall of the bank.
“Why not get out and follow Nick?”
But what should he do with the captured watchman?
He would not remain unconscious long.
The burglars must not know that the detectives had discovered their plot.
He finally handcuffed the fellow’s hands behind his back, tied his ankles together, gagged him, and prepared to leave the cellar.
Then a new difficulty presented itself.
The door in the double wall was fastened on the street side.
It would take a long time to cut through it with such tools as the detective had.
He must pass out, if at all, through the chophouse.
After some little delay he crept to the head of the stairs and listened.
Gilmore and Geary were still in the place.
He could hear them talking in subdued tones.
The lights were out in the dining room, and the place was evidently closed for the night.
They were waiting for the return of Parks and Nixon.
Chick tried the knob of the cellar door.
It turned easily, and the door opened without noise.
It was very dark in that part of the room, and the detective ventured forth.
He had hardly closed the door behind himself when Gilmore sprang to his feet with an oath and lit the gas.
“What’s up?” asked Geary.
“We’re a couple of fools.”
“Well?”
“Did you see the watchman down there?”
“Didn’t know there was one.”
“Well, there was.”
“Where was he when we were there?”
“That’s just what I’d like to know.”
“Probably off on a drunk,” suggested Geary.
“Not much. He’s been arrested,” said Gilmore. “I thought all along that there was something wrong down there.”
Geary laughed.
“I never saw you act as you are acting to-night,” he said. “What has got into you?”
“I tell you that there is something wrong in the cellar.”
“Well,” said Geary, “then we’d better go down and make it right.”
He lit a candle as he spoke.
Gilmore reached up to turn off the gas.
His companion caught him by the arm.
“Wait!” he said, in a whisper.
“What is it?”
“There’s some one in the room.”
Two revolvers flashed in the light.
Chick was in a tight place.
“I’ll stand here with my gun,” said Gilmore, “and you light all the gas jets in the room. Then we can see to kill the spy.”
Geary set about obeying orders.
In another moment the place where Chick stood would be as light as day.
Then both burglars would begin shooting at him.
They would take any chance rather than allow him to escape after having gained admission to the cellar.
Chick moved cautiously toward the cellar door.
As he did so a bullet grazed his hat.
He sprang for an instant into full view, and darted down the stairs, followed by half a dozen bullets.
Gilmore was fairly white with rage.
“He must have been down there all the time,” he said.
“And heard the plans laid for the burglary,” added Geary.
There was a moment’s silence, during which both men took good care to keep out of range of the cellar door.
“He might shoot,” suggested Gilmore, pointing toward the dark opening through which Chick had disappeared.
“Of course he’ll shoot.”
Geary was not in a consoling mood.
“What is to be done?” asked Gilmore.
“Blessed if I know.”
“Think. I can’t.”
“Can he get out?”
“Only by passing through this room.”
“The door in the double wall——”
“Is fastened on the street side.”
“Then let him stay there until Parks and Nixon come back.”
“And a great roast they’ll have on us.”
Gilmore was becoming decidedly savage.
Geary did not take the matter so much to heart. He was sure that it would all come out right in the end.
“Let them roast if they want to,” said the latter.
“I won’t have it.”
“Well?”
“I’m going down there.”
Gilmore pointed to the cellar as he spoke.
“You’ll get your head shot off if you do.”
“I don’t care. I won’t have this scheme ruined now,” said Gilmore, with an oath.
Geary pondered a moment.
“You might go down the front way,” he suggested, “and get a shot at the fellow through the door.”
“Just the thing.”
When Gilmore reached the street door, he saw a manwaiting there, and looking through the glass panel as he waited.
The door was hastily unlocked, and the man stepped inside.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
“The devil is to pay.”
“Then pay him, if you can find a member of your crowd that has a soul. I understand that the gentleman you name has a liking for souls, my friend.”
The newcomer was tall and slender, with sharp eyes and very glossy black whiskers, which clung close to a very white face.
He was an important personage in the electric-drill combination, having supplied most of the money with which to equip the chophouse and purchase the machinery.
“You will have your joke,” growled Gilmore.
“Anything new from the South Side?” asked the newcomer, who was a doctor by profession, and always smelled of drugs.
“Parks and Nixon are still there,” was the reply.
“Did they get away from here without being followed?”
“I think so.”
Gilmore locked the door again, and the two men joined Geary in the back end of the room.
“Tell me what’s up,” said the doctor, looking from one man to the other in amazement.
In a moment more it all came out.
A detective had found his way into the cellar.
The doctor cursed until the air was almost blue.
Chick, peeping from the head of the stairs, heard it all, and rather enjoyed it.
“Why haven’t you been doing something?” demanded the doctor. “For all you know, the fellow may be out in the street and halfway to police headquarters now.”
“He can’t get out. The door in the wall is fastened from the street side.”
It was Geary who spoke.
The doctor glanced at him for an instant, and then said:
“An hour ago you would have told me that he could not get into the cellar at all. Go to the street, and watch the front door.”
Geary departed without saying a word.
Then the doctor turned to Gilmore.
“Isn’t it about time the boys were back from Forty-third Street?” he asked.
“I think not,” was the reply. “Have you any fears as to the result down there?”
“None whatever,” was the answer. “Even if Parks and Nixon made a mess of it, my roommate will straighten them out.”
“He will be there, of course?”
“Yes.”
“In the flat across the airshaft?”
“Didn’t we rent it for this special occasion?”
The men conversed for some moments in whispers, and then the doctor crept cautiously to the head of the stairs.
“He is still there,” he whispered back, in a moment.
“In the rear room?”
“Yes.”
“Then throw your poison ball.”
The doctor drew away from the doorway for a second, and took a little round white substance from his pocket.
“You can’t use the place to-morrow,” he said, warningly, as he for a moment held the ball suspended in the air between his thumb and forefinger.
“What is it?” asked Gilmore.
“Something made for just such places,” was the reply.
“Will it produce death?”
“Not at once, but it will make a man lay like a corpse for twelve hours. Then, if restoratives are not applied, death results.”
“Throw it.”
Chick heard something drop almost at his feet.
Then came an explosion, followed by a horrible, choking odor.
Chick tried to breathe, but found it impossible. He felt himself falling, and heard a strange, rushing sound in his ears.
“There’s a dead man down there.”
“Down where?”
“In the doctor’s flat.”
The man living in the flat above the one where NickCarter had been assaulted looked up from the morning paper.
“How do you know?” he asked.
The wife gave a little shiver as she answered:
“I saw it.”
The head of the family laid down the paper.
“When?” he asked.
“When I got up,” began the woman, “I stepped to the window looking into the airshaft. I did not sleep well last night, on account of the noise down there, and I thought I would see if everything there looked as usual.”
“Well?”
“Of course I couldn’t see into the rooms under us, so I turned my attention to the rooms on the other side of the shaft.”
“How slow you are. Go on.”
“Well, a heavy black curtain hung over the opposite windows, making an almost perfect mirror of the plate glass in the sash.”
“Well—well?”
“And there, in that mirror, I saw the body of a dead man lying in the back parlor of the doctor’s flat.”
“Was the doctor there?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“What was he doing—preparing to cut up the body?”
“No; he was cleaning up.”
The head of the house resumed his paper for a moment and then laid it down again.
“Why didn’t you tell me of this before?” he asked.
“Oh, I thought it merely a freak of the doctor’s.”
“What noises did you hear down there last night?”
“You are not in court now,” said the woman, with a laugh. “I don’t know as I can describe the noises I heard. There were blows and the sound of scuffling.”
The man of the house walked to the hall door, and opened it.
“I wonder if the doctor is there yet?” he asked.
“He went away an hour ago,” was the reply.
The man went down and tried the door.
It was locked, and no one answered his call.
“He’s gone, all right enough,” said the man, going upstairs again, “and I’m going to have a look into that room.”
“You have no right——”
“Oh, yes, I have, my dear. The law gives me a right to go anywhere I believe a crime is being committed.”
“Will the law heal your head if you get it hurt?” asked the wife, anxiously.
“I’ll look out for that, too.”
The head of the house got his wife’s clothesline down, and raised the window opening the airshaft.
The flat straight across was unoccupied, and the heavy curtains which had revealed so much still hung across the windows in the flat below, so there was no danger of making a scene.
The man swung himself down, and landed on the heavy ground glass at the bottom of the shaft.
The window was fastened and heavy curtains had beendrawn across the panes, but the investigator, by the exertion of all his strength, forced the sash up, and looked inside the room.
The man he saw lying there on the carpet was bound, and gagged, and bloody, but he was not dead.
“Help me out of this,” his eyes said, as plainly as words could have done.
The man removed the gag and stood looking down at him.
“How did you come here?” he asked.
“I didn’t get into this shape for the fun of it,” was the reply. “Take these things off before those men come back.”
“Who are you?”
Nick nodded his chin toward an inside pocket.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said, “so you may look at my credentials.”
The man did look, and in about a second after he had done looking Nick Carter was free of all bonds, and on his way to the flat above.
It took but a few moments for the detective to explain all that had taken place in the building the previous night.
Nick was not seriously injured.
A weaker man would have been laid up for days from the effects of the bruises he had received, but Nick had too much work to do to think of going to bed at all.
He washed and dressed his wounds as best he could, partook of a light breakfast, and then asked the man who had rescued him to inform the officer on the beatbelow that something unusual had taken place in the old man’s flat the night before.
“That will place the matter in the hands of the police,” he said. “I don’t want to take a hand in it just yet.”
The man soon came back, and reported that the policeman had broken in the door, and found the old man lying bound and gagged on the bed. A large amount of money and some valuable jewelry had been taken.
“And you have the clew?” said the man, inquiringly.
“Yes, but I can’t give it now. I want to have another interview with those people downstairs before the officers get hold of them.”
“And they are in with the burglars?”
“It seems so. How long have they lived there?”
“About two weeks.”
“It is a part of the electric-drill scheme,” said Nick.
“What’s that?”
“I was thinking aloud.”
“But you spoke of an electric drill.”
“Yes.”
Nick Carter, for once, had been caught napping. He had spoken when he should have remained silent.
“That makes me think,” continued the man, “that the two doctors downstairs are cranks on electricity.”
“What do they do with electricity?”
“They have a motor down there, and they have been drilling all sorts of substances.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Ever since they have lived there.”
Nick thought of the armature he had found in the rooms below not long before, and remained silent.
“Now,” said the detective, “I want to be back in that room when the doctors return, and I want you within reach in case I should need help. What do you say to that?”
“All right. I am dying for a scrap, anyway.”
The two men descended to the lower flat, and Nick was placed in the shape in which he had been left.
The gag was in his mouth, and the ropes were on his wrists and ankles, but they were fixed so that they could be cast aside at any moment.
Nick’s companion secreted himself in a huge wardrobe in the room.
In ten minutes the door was unlocked from the outside, and two men entered, only one of whom the detective knew.
One was the man who had attacked Nick and the other was the man who had thrown the poisonous ball at Chick in the cellar of the chophouse.
“It worked like a charm,” the latter was saying. “The spy keeled over in a second, and you ought to see the stuff we got out of his clothes.”
“Money?”
“Yes, money and disguises and letters of introduction. He’ll make an excellent subject for the dissecting table in a day or two.”
Nick trembled, for he knew that they were talking about Chick.
“Is he dead?”
“No, but you know that he will die if restoratives are not applied inside of twelve hours.”
“The twelve hours will be up at two o’clock this afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Why, we’ll cut him up—in the interest of science, of course.”
The doctor laughed brutally as he spoke.
“How’s the chophouse to-day?” asked the other.
“It stinks.”
“Closed up?”
“Tight as a drum.”
“The cellar is being worked, I suppose?”
“Yes, the boys are all at work, except the watchman Chick came so near killing. He’s gone to bed.”
“Things must be about ready down there?”
“The drilling begins to-night.”
Nick thought he heard a faint exclamation from the direction of the wardrobe.
One of the doctors also heard the noise.
“What’s that?” he asked.
His companion made no reply, but stepped up to the place where the detective was lying.
“See here,” he said, “your friend is awake.”
The other advanced, and removed the gag.
“You might have done it yourself,” he said, addressing Nick, “it’s loose enough.”
“How do you like your quarters?” asked the other doctor.
“Not very well,” was the reply.
“You heard what we have been saying?”
“Yes.”
“How do you like the fate in store for Chick?”
“He’s not dead yet,” replied Nick.
“You have an idea that you’ll both get away?”
“Of course.”
“Well, you’ll both be on the dissecting table in twenty-four hours. You’ll make good subjects, too.”
“Put me in a chair,” said the detective. “The floor is like a rock.”
The doctors lifted him up.
“You have only a short time to live,” one of them said, “and we may as well make you comfortable.”
The next moment one of the ruffians stood before the detective with a rag saturated with ether.
“It’s time to put you to sleep,” he said. “You’ll wake up in a place where you won’t need an overcoat.”
The instant the muscular doctor came within reach, Nick sprang to his feet, and struck out with his right, throwing all the strength of his strong arm and all the weight of his body into the blow.
The doctor caught the blow under the ear, and went to the floor like a dead man.
Then the door of the wardrobe was thrown open, and Nick’s rescuer dashed out.
The other doctor sprang for the door, but the man from the wardrobe got there first.
In a moment the doctor was thrown to the floor and handcuffed.
But although captured, the fellow was not conquered.
“There’s one sure thing,” he said, “and that is that you can’t save Chick. He’s got a dose that will finish him.”
“All right,” said Nick, coolly, “I can get another assistant, but you can’t get another neck after the law gets done with the one you have.”
“Will the charge against me be murder?”
“Certainly.”
“Is that other chap asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Then I want to talk to you alone.”
Nick motioned to his friend to step outside.
The next moment there was a sharp report, and a terrible odor crept into the room. The doctor had thrown another poison ball.
“There! You may set the electric drill in motion to-night, or as soon as you please.”
Nixon stood by a basin of water in the cellar, washing his hands.
Gilmore and Geary, with smiling faces, stood near the break in the cellar wall.
“Three million dollars are almost within reach,” said the latter, “and then here’s one man for Europe.”
“What’s that for?” asked Gilmore.
“It’s safer over there.”
Gilmore lit a cigar and handed one to his companion.
“It’s safe enough anywhere now,” he said.
“What makes you think so?”
“Haven’t we got rid of Nick Carter and Chick?”
Geary looked doubtful for a moment.
“They are out of the way for the present,” he said, seeing that Gilmore expected him to say something.
“Do you think they will get away?” demanded Gilmore.
“I’m afraid they will.”
Gilmore took the candle in his hand and walked through the break in the cellar wall.
Turning to the right, he faced toward the rear of the bank vault, and lifted the flashing candle above his head.
“There,” he said, “do you see anything there?”
As he spoke he pointed to the figure of a man lying on the floor.
“Yes.”
“Does it look as if he’d get away?”
“Hardly.”
“Do you think the doctors will allow Nick to escape?”
“No.”
“Of course not. They want him too much for that. Don’t you think so?”
“What you say is all true,” said Geary, “but for all that you may rest assured that we are not through with Nick Carter yet.”
As he spoke, Geary and Gilmore felt a hand laid on their shoulders.
Each gave a start of surprise.
The doctor stood before them.
“My friend Chick seems to be behaving himself,” he said, with a smile.
“What brings you back here at this time?” asked Gilmore.
“Restlessness.”
“How did you leave our friend, Nick Carter?” asked Geary.
“A trifle under the weather.”
“Conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Then look out for him.”
“He’s in good hands,” replied the doctor.
“Where’s Richard?” asked Gilmore.
“At the rooms. He won’t be down to-day.”
“What?”
“He won’t be down until evening.”
“What are you down for? We shall have a hard night of it.”
“I want to get this young man away.”
“What young man?”
“Chick.”
Gilmore looked puzzled.
“I thought he was to remain here,” he said.
“And have the officers find him with the broken vault in the morning? I should say not.”
“Where do you want to take him?”
“To a place where we can cut him up, of course.”
“That’s the doctor of it,” said Gilmore, with an oath.
Then Nixon stepped back to where the three men were talking.
“Are you going to cut Nick Carter up, too?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Who let you in?” asked Nixon.
“The fellow at the door.”
“He was there when you came in, then?”
“Yes, and he made a kick about letting me in. He said something about the word having been changed.”
“He must have been drunk,” said Gilmore, “for the word has not been changed.”
“Well,” said Nixon, “the fellow has disappeared.”
The doctor appeared to be very angry.
“You will spoil the whole scheme by putting such men on guard,” he said, “and at this critical time, too.”
“I’ll run that door myself, after this,” said Nixon, “or at least until the drill starts.”
The doctor stepped forward and bent over the still figure lying in the corner by the bank vault.
“He’s about gone,” he said. “We must get him out of this before he dies.”
“Why so?”
“Because you can take an unconscious man through the streets very easily, but you can’t stir with a dead one.”
“You are right about that,” said Geary. “I have tried both.”
“How are you going to get him away?” asked Gilmore.
“In a carriage, I suppose.”
“Well, call one, then, and let’s have done with the affair for good and all.”
Geary went out to call a carriage “for a sick man,” and the doctor went back to the motionless figure by the vault.
Gilmore watched him closely.
Finally he saw him take a bottle from his pocket and press it to Chick’s lips.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Trying to get rid of this accursed smell,” was the cool reply.
“I wish you could take the stink out of the rooms upstairs,” said Gilmore.
“You won’t want the rooms to-morrow,” was the reply.
“I hope not.”
Then Nixon came back and announced that the carriage was waiting.
The doctor and Nixon took Chick by the feet and shoulders, and carried him to the street door of the chophouse.
Then Gilmore called Nixon to the back end of the room, to a place where the doctor could not overhear what was being said.
“What do you think of this?” he asked.
“Of what?”
“Taking Chick away.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Well,” said Gilmore, with an oath, “I don’t like it either. He may escape.”
“Then don’t let him go.”
“But the doctor wants him.”
“Confound the doctor.”
“He’s been a good producer, Nixon,” said Gilmore.
“Yes, and has allowed us to do all the work and assume all the risks. Where was he last night when we were out there at his block? He ought to have been on deck then.”
“I know it, old man.”
Nixon chewed the end of his cigar, and looked ugly.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” he said, in a moment. “I won’t leave this young man, Chick, until I see the knife in him.”
“I was about to suggest that.”
“I’ve had enough of this monkey work with Nick Carter and his gang,” continued the burglar. “I have had Nick and Chick in my power before to-night, and they have always escaped through some soft-heartedness on the part of some member of the party. That don’t happen this time.”
Gilmore seemed greatly pleased.
“You stick to that kind of talk regarding detectives,” he said, “and you’ll wear diamonds.”
Nixon turned away toward the door.
“Remember,” Gilmore whispered in his ear, “any knife will do as well as a surgeon’s knife.”
The doctor, standing at the street door, with his hand on the knob, heard the words, and gave a sudden start.
“Hurry,” he said, when Nixon came up, “help me into the carriage with this sick man and then you canrun the place to suit yourself for a little while, but I advise you to keep a closer watch on the door opening on the street.”
“I’m going with you.”
Nixon spoke half angrily.
“Oh, you are?”
There was something so peculiar in the doctor’s tone that the burglar looked up with a start.
“That’s orders.”
“From whom?”
“Gilmore.”
“Very well. Come along.”
“He takes it mighty cool,” thought Nixon. But, then, he could not see the doctor’s face from where he was standing.
Chick was placed in the carriage without difficulty, and then the doctor stepped forward to give the driver his orders.
When he got back to the carriage door, Nixon was leaning over the still figure of the detective.
He held a wicked-looking knife in his hand, and seemed about to strike.
The doctor caught his arm.
“Don’t make a muss in the carriage,” he said, coolly.
With an oath, Nixon threw himself into the front seat of the carriage and folded his arms.
“Keep me away from him, then,” he said. “I shall not wait for the drug if I get another chance.”
The doctor pointed out to the crowded streets.
“See the risk you would run,” he said.
The carriage drove straight to the Windsor Hotel.
Nixon glared about in a suspicious manner, but helped to carry the unconscious man to a room on the second floor without making any remarks.
He cursed and swore at the crowd which gathered around the stairway when Chick was taken from the vehicle, but said nothing to his companion until the door of the room was closed behind them.
“What does this mean?” he then demanded.
He spoke with his hand on the handle of a revolver, but before he could draw it the doctor had him covered.
“It means,” was the calm reply, “that you are under arrest. Throw up your hands.”
“You are joking, doctor.”
The “doctor’s” false beard and wig were off in an instant, and Nick Carter stood revealed.
Regardless of the weapon held within an inch of his face, Nixon, wild with rage, sprang at the detective.
Nick did not care to use his revolver and so attract the attention of the police and the people in the house.
He grappled with his assailant, and the two men rolled on the carpet together.
Nixon was a muscular fellow, and he now fought with all the cunning and all the fierce strength of a maniac.
He had a knife in his possession, and he exerted himself to the utmost to bring it into use.
Nick knew the danger he was in, and tried hard to bring the fight to a sudden close.
Not only his own life, but that of his assistant also depended upon his exertions.
In a moment the struggling men heard steps in the hall, and then the door of the room was thrown open.
Nick expected that the intruder was an employee of the hotel.
Nixon was afraid it was an officer.
It was neither.
It was one of the toughs who had attacked Chick the previous night in the chophouse.
Gilmore had ordered him to follow the carriage.
Nick sprang to his feet, and drew his revolver.
With grins of triumph, Nixon and the thug advanced upon him.
“We’ve got you at last,” hissed the former.
“The electric drill ought to be working by this time.”
Chester Smith, the wealthy banker, Nick Carter, Chick and two detectives from the city force sat in a room not far from the chophouse.
It was nearly midnight, and they had been waiting there two hours.
“It beats anything I ever heard of,” said the banker. “When burglars took money from under my pillow, stole my revolver, cooked a breakfast in my kitchen, tapped my wine, and left an explanatory tag tied to my dog’s tail, I thought the limit of audacity had been reached; butthis robbing a bank by machinery throws all that in the shade.”
The detectives laughed heartily at the banker’s account of the burglar’s visit to his residence.
Then Chick turned to his chief.
“I’d like to know,” he said, “how you got that make-up from the doctor, and how you knew what drug to use in order to help me back to life.”
“Why,” said Nick, “the fool of a doctor tried to catch me by giving me a dose of the same medicine he gave you. I got out of the room mighty quick and shut the door.”
“And he had to take the dose himself?”
“Exactly. Well, the ball wasn’t very strong, and when I went back into the room the fellow was still conscious, although lacking the power of motion.”
“That’s the way I felt at first.”
“He motioned for me to take a bottle out of his pocket, and give him some of its contents. I did so, and he was soon on his feet. So you see I had the remedy right in my own hands. As for the doctor’s rig, I made him give that up at the police station.”
“It was a perfect fit,” laughed Chick. “How Nixon started when you threw it off.”
“You were conscious at that time?”
“Of course. I began to recover the instant you gave me the antidote, but I didn’t want those fellows to catch on. I guess Nixon had an idea that I was as good as dead. When I sprang from the bed and got him by the neck he acted as if he had seen a ghost.”
“You saved my life there,” said Nick. “I couldn’t have fought another round.”
One of the detectives who stood by the window now turned toward the little group.
“It’s time to go,” he said. “The lights are out in the chophouse and the drill must be going.”
“They are two hours late now,” said Nick, “but they may be waiting for Nixon and the two doctors.”
“They’ll have to wait a long time,” said Chick.
The two detectives, Nick and Chick, now left the room and walked down to the chophouse, where they stopped.
The grinding of the electric drill could very plainly be heard.
The city detectives went to the front door of the restaurant, while Nick and his assistant crept down the area in front.
As they expected, the door in the double partition was securely fastened on both sides.
They waited a few moments for the city officers to make their presence known, but the work on the other side of the double wall went on as if there were no officers within a thousand miles.
“Stay here and guard this door,” said Nick, “and I’ll go around and see what’s the matter.”
The detective found the door of the chophouse open, and understood that the city officers were on the inside.
He entered and walked along through the dark room until he came to the door leading to the basement.
There he was met by a quick, sharp challenge.
“Who’s there?”
The detective hesitated an instant, and then answered:
“Nixon.”
His answer was followed by a sharp whistle, and then he heard a rush of feet and the sound of excited voices in the basement.
In an instant the detective realized what had happened.
The city officers had been overpowered by the burglars.
The arrest of Nixon had in some way become known.
At this second invasion of the place the burglars were quitting their work.
Nick knew that if he effected the capture of the gang at all he must act at once, without waiting for assistance.
With a weapon in each hand, he sprang toward the stairs.
The guard there fired one warning shot and retreated to the cellar.
In a moment Nick had confronted the burglars.
“Surrender!” he shouted. “I have a dozen officers at my back.”
His only answer was several pistol shots, but the bullets flew wide of their mark.
Then the outlaws rushed upon the detective.
Only one cowardly rascal turned to the door in the double wall to make his escape.
Busy as he was with the men about him, Nick could not help smiling when he saw the fellow unfastening the door.
He knew what would happen when he got it open.
Nick was now hard pressed, for the burglars were fighting for dear liberty.
He was in a fair way to get the worst of the encounter when the man at the door succeeded in getting it open, Chick having unfastened it from the other side.
As the burglar stepped into the opening he met a hard, white hand which sent him back into the rear room.
Then Chick sprang through the doorway with a yell, and began striking right and left.
Seeing a man creeping up behind Nick with a knife in his hand, Chick drew his revolver and shot the fellow through the heart.
This ended the battle.
The burglars had no means of knowing how many more officers there were in the front cellar, and they did not like the shooting.
So they threw up their arms and surrendered.
Geary and Parks were the first men handcuffed.
Gilmore was nowhere in sight.
“Well, you’ve got me at last,” snarled Parks.
“Yes, and I could have had you much earlier,” retorted Nick, “but when I took up your trail after you escaped on the way to Sing Sing, I knew you would lead me to some other villains, and I thought I might as well bag them too. Now, where is Gilmore?”
“He went over the roof, and I hope you’ll catch him.”
Nick, leaving Chick to guard the prisoners, dashed through the chophouse and up the stairs to the roof.
It was very dark, and at first he could see nothing.
Finally, however, he heard a noise on the roof of the next building, which was several feet lower than the roof of the one upon which the detective then stood.
He crept to the edge and looked down.
A figure stood on the wall at the rear, looking over an alley, at least twelve feet wide.
As the detective looked, the figure sprang into the air and landed on the other side.
It was a desperate act, but well carried out.
“Gilmore still has his old nerve,” thought Nick. “I wonder if I could jump that alley?”
He could, and he did, but when he stood in safety on the other side, Gilmore had disappeared.
Nick prowled around on the roof a long time, and was about to take his departure when a low cry of fright reached his ears.
He crept softly in the direction from which the sound had proceeded, and found a faint light shining through a skylight in the roof.
Looking down, he saw Gilmore standing by the side of a bed containing two young men.
He was evidently pleading with them for protection.
The burglar had been careful to replace the skylight after leaving the roof, and had drawn a table under the opening for the purpose.
Nick pushed the sash aside, and dropped into the room.
One of the young men saw him, but Nick pointed to the badge on his vest, and the fellow remained silent.
Before Gilmore knew that Nick was in the room, the detective was upon him.
There was a short, sharp struggle, and then the most daring house and bank breaker in the world lay handcuffed on the floor.
“What a bank burglar you would have made,” said Gilmore, as Nick sat down by his side for a moment’s rest.
“Think so?”
“What have you done with Nixon, the two doctors and the doorkeeper?” continued Gilmore.
“All locked up.”
“And Chick?”
“Downstairs, keeping cases on the gang.”
“Are they all under arrest?”
“Every one.”
“I suppose it was you that got Chick away?”
“Of course.”
“Again I say what a bank burglar you would have made.”
Gilmore was in a great rage when, after being taken to police headquarters, he learned that the whole gang had been captured by the two New York detectives.
“What became of the city officers?” he asked.
Geary grinned and pointed toward the old chophouse cellar.
“You’ll find them down there behind the bank vault,” he said.
And there the officers were found, nearly suffocated and foaming with rage.
While these events were transpiring in Chicago the New York chief of police was being interviewed by a woman who had a most remarkable story to tell.
So remarkable, indeed, that the chief persuaded his caller to defer any action till Nick Carter returned home.
The result was that when Nick reached his office he found this note awaiting him: