The woman, plainly unconscious that she was followed, went on until she reached Twenty-first Street, when she was stopped by Grammery Park.
She turned to the right, or toward the west, and went around the park to Twentieth Street, and so down to Irving place.
Into this short street she turned, continuing on to Seventeenth Street.
“Hide!” cried Chick, just as she reached the corner, springing over the fence into a courtyard.
Patsy obeyed immediately and the lineman caught on quickly enough to prevent himself from being seen.
As Chick had anticipated, the woman had stood still on the corner and looked back.
As no one was to be seen, she was apparently satisfied that she was unobserved, for she turned to the left and went out of sight.
The three came from their hiding places, and, at Chick’s suggestion, Patsy stole up to the corner, peering around it.
He signaled for Chick to come, and dashed across Seventeenth Street.
The woman was pursuing her way toward Third Avenue on the upper side of Seventeenth Street.
“Keep back, out of sight,” said Chick to the lineman.
The young man fell back, and Chick advanced cautiously, taking advantage of every obstruction of which he could make use.
Patsy was pursuing the same tactics on the other side of the street.
When within a few doors of Third Avenue, the woman again stopped and looked back.
This had been anticipated by Chick, too, and he was out of sight when she turned.
Nor was Patsy to be seen. The only one in the vista was a man—the lineman—and his back was turned, as if he were walking toward Irving Place.
Hastily she ran up the steps of the house in front of which she had stopped, and disappeared through the door.
Chick and Patsy both appeared at the same instant. Chick sounded a signal, and Patsy came running to him.
“Is it the house, Chick?” he asked.
“The same one, Patsy,” replied Chick.
“Then it is the Brown Robin.”
“Perhaps. We’ll pipe off the house for a while.”
The lineman came back to them, and learning what they were about to do, concluded to go off, but Chick persuaded him to stay.
While he had every reason to believe that the young fellow was honest, yet he would not take the chance of having him give warning.
The wait was half an hour in length, during which time the three were completely concealed under the areaway of a vacant house.
About the time that Patsy expressed the opinion that the woman was settled for the night, a form was seen toappear on the stoop from within the house they were watching.
“Here she comes!” cried Patsy.
The figure descended the steps.
“It’s a man,” said the lineman, “not a woman.”
The figure turned from the house toward the west, approaching closely to the spot where the three were hidden.
As the man passed them, the light of a street lamp fell upon him.
Patsy caught the arm of Chick in a firm grip, and held it until the figure of the man passed far enough along to be beyond the possibility of hearing.
“It is the one I followed this morning,” he whispered.
“The deuce!” exclaimed Chick. “The one who wrote the letter—who went to sleep in the hotel?”
“Yes; in the disguise he put on after he ran away from the insurance building.”
“Get out and watch him,” said Chick to the lineman.
The young fellow did as he was told, and presently reported that the man was crossing Irving Place and going up Seventeenth Street to the west.
“Patsy,” said Chick, “go and rig yourself for the night’s work. I’ll take up the shadow and will give you the trail.”
Patsy was about to go off, but he waited to hear Chick say to the lineman:
“It isn’t worth your while to follow us longer.”
But at the moment the lineman said:
“The fellow is coming back.”
Again the three went into hiding to see that the young fellow stopped at the corner of Irving Place.
He stood there a moment or two, looking down the street, and passed out of sight.
Patsy stole up to the corner, and lightly leaping into the courtyard of the house on the corner, threw himself on the ground and wriggled to the corner, to see the man standing nearby, leaning against the fence.
Patsy wriggled back, and signaled to Chick that the man was there yet.
Chick gave the return signal to keep up the watch, and himself stole down the street to the house whence the man had come.
Looking up at it, there were no indications that it was occupied.
Pulling from his pocket a false mustache and a wig, he donned them quickly, keenly alive to any signal Patsy might give, and, mounting the steps, rang the bell.
Chick had a notion in his head that he wanted to satisfy.
There was no response, though he rang several times.
Then he tried the outer door. It opened to him, and he found himself in a vestibule. The inner doors were locked.
He picked the lock quickly and stepped into a dark hall. There were no signs or sounds of life within the house, but all was darkness.
Chick drew his revolver, and then took from his coat pocket his lantern.
Feeling for the parlor door, he entered that room andlistened. Then he flashed his lantern. It was empty. By the light he located the stairs, and shutting it off, cautiously climbed them to the second floor, where he listened again.
There was no sound of anything. Again flashing his light, he found an open door in front of him.
He entered. On the bed was a lot of women’s clothes. He examined them. It was a complete woman’s costume.
On a chair was some men’s apparel.
Chick went back to the woman’s clothes and muttered:
“It is just what I thought.”
He gave a hasty glance at the bureau. On it was a lot of paint and cosmetic; several false beards, mustaches and wigs.
“I’ve got this for a certainty.”
He bounded out of the room, going hurriedly into every part of the house. It was empty; not a soul in it.
He went to the front door, and as he did so he heard some one on the outside.
He darted into the parlor and not a moment too soon, for some one entered and hastily ran upstairs in the dark.
Quick as a flash and as a light shone forth on the second floor, Chick slipped out of the front doors and down the steps.
Reaching the sidewalk, he sounded a low whistle.
Promptly came the response; Chick bounded in its direction.
Patsy appeared from under a stoop; Chick went to him.
“Who went into that house?” he asked.
“The same one who came out. He came back all of a sudden, as if he had just thought of something, nearly catching me. Who came out just now?”
“I did.”
“The devil!”
“Yes; I’ve been through the house. There wasn’t a soul in it.”
“But the woman who went in?”
“Patsy, I’ve tumbled to a big thing. The woman who went in and the man who came out are the same person. But hurry off, Patsy, rig up and find my trail. There’s business on hand.”
Patsy dashed away and was hardly out of sight, when Chick saw the young man come from the house and hurriedly pass up Seventeenth Street.
Chick was after him quickly, a piece of red chalk in his hand. The lineman had disappeared.
For some time, as a matter of convenience for making changes and as a meeting place for himself and aids, Nick had maintained a room in the hotel where, in the late afternoon of the day in which these events took place, he had taken off his makeup as Mr. Cary.
It was to this place that Patsy hurried to make the change that would prevent him from being recognized by the Brown Robin.
It did not take him long, and when he turned out into the street again, in his dress suit and mustache, he looked like a veritable young man about town—a handsome swell.
He had supposed when he left the room where he made the change that he would have to return to the neighborhood where Chick had made his great discovery, to pick up Chick’s trail.
But he had barely stepped through the main entrance to the hotel when he saw, on the pavement directly in front, a roughly-drawn arrow in red chalk, the head pointing to the north.
It was Chick’s trail.
“Great luck!” exclaimed Patsy to himself, as he hurried up to the corner. “I’m on as the flag falls.”
At the corner the sign showed that Chick had crossedthe street to the west side of Broadway, but on reaching the corner on that side, Patsy could see nothing that indicated further direction.
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Patsy. “They have taken a car.”
He went back to the middle of the street, and, looking about carefully, saw some pieces of paper.
He looked for a trail of them, but the wind had evidently blown them away.
Searching further, Patsy’s eye was caught by an upright form which fluttered a small red flag, a signal of some kind, used in the operation of the street railway.
This upright was a slender rod of iron, but about it was tied a small bit of red cloth.
Patsy went to it, to recognize it as one of Chick’s signs.
A railroad man came up, warning Patsy away from the signal.
“Now, who the deuce did that?” he exclaimed, tearing off Chick’s signal.
But Patsy had seen it, and knew that Chick had taken an upbound car.
So he mounted the next one, quite certain that Chick’s destination was the Empire Theatre.
But, all the same, he kept a sharp lookout for any signal that might have been left by Chick on the way.
He saw none, however, until in passing the Empire Theatre, his eye caught a strip of red cloth, a foot long, fluttering from the billboard of the theatre.
“Chick’s there,” he muttered.
At Fortieth Street he got out and walked back to the theatre, taking off the strip of cloth which had been fastened by a pin, as he entered, placing it in his pocket.
As he entered the lobby, a man in ordinary clothes passed out, making a signal to Patsy.
Even before Patsy saw the signal he had recognized Chick, though he was disguised by a false mustache and wig.
He followed Chick out, and when he came up, Chick said:
“My man, who is a woman—the Brown Robin—is in there, looking at the play. The second act is on.
“Mountain is in there, too. The Brown Robin talked with Mountain after the first act. What was said between them I don’t know, but whatever it was, the Brown Robin asked something from Mountain which he refused to give or do.
“I couldn’t get to him before he went back to his seat.”
“Catch him after this act,” said Patsy.
“That’s what I want to do,” said Chick, “and I have been thinking it over and how to do it. You see, if we talk with Mountain in the open, the Brown Robin will drop, and that is what we don’t want.
“Say, Patsy, you know the manager, don’t you?”
“Yes; he’s all right—nice fellow.”
“Well, can’t you see him now, and ask him to let us into a room and send for Mr. Mountain?”
“Sure.”
Patsy went off, and in a few moments was back again,saying it was all arranged. He led Chick into a room opening off the lobby, and when the door was closed Patsy laughed and said:
“This job was easy enough, Chick, but the hard part was to convince our friend that I was the one I said I was. He knows Mountain, so that is all right.”
At this moment the door opened, and a short, rather stout man, with a sharp, bright, masterful face, entered, looking keenly about.
“The great mogul over all here,” whispered Patsy.
It was indeed the great theatrical manager of the day.
“Which one is Patsy?” he asked.
Patsy stood up, and the great manager looked him over keenly.
Then he laughed heartily, and shook hands with the lad.
“Patsy,” he said, “I think I shall have to engage you to teach makeup to my young people. Yours is a triumph of art.”
Directing the boy in attendance to make the two comfortable, he went out.
Shortly after, a bell sounded in the room.
“The act is over,” said Chick; “now for Mountain.”
They did not wait long, for the door soon opened and Mr. Mountain, in evening attire, entered.
He looked at the two with the air of one who had expected to find acquaintances and had met strangers.
“Mr. Mountain,” said Chick, “we are two of Nick Carter’s men.”
“The woods are full of them, then,” said Mr. Mountain, seriously, “for this is the second time I have been accosted by them.”
“Do you mean,” asked Chick, “that the one who spoke to you after the first act said he was one of Nick Carter’s men?”
“That’s what he did.”
“For Heaven’s sake!” exclaimed Chick. “I hope you gave him no confidence.”
“I did not. I told him that I did not know whether he was or not, and I would not talk to him until I knew or he proved it. Then I told him that when I knew him to be one of Nick Carter’s men I would have nothing to do with him, or Nick Carter, either, for I had been warned against all. And that’s what I say to you.”
“You do not recognize me, then, Mr. Mountain?”
“I do not.”
Chick stood up, and quickly removed his mustache and wig.
“How now, Mr. Mountain?”
“There’s no doubt of it now,” laughed Mr. Mountain.
“I am Patsy, Mr. Mountain,” said the lad, “but I can’t take off my makeup so quickly or put it on again.”
“Well, boys,” said Mr. Mountain, “what’s in the wind?”
“We have been detailed by the chief to watch over you, Mr. Mountain,” said Chick. “He had a notion that you would get your notice to-night.”
“He was right. I did.”
“When?”
“See here, Chick,” said Mr. Mountain, “Carter told me that if I was questioned I must deny having anything to do with him or his men.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Mountain,” said Chick. “The chief has a notion that they do not know that you have retained him, and he wants to keep the thing quiet. I hope you did not let on to that young man that you had relations with us.”
“Why?”
“Because that was the Brown Robin.”
“The devil! I saw Nick Carter only a couple of hours ago, and he told me the Brown Robin was a woman.”
“The person speaking to you after the first act was a woman.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Certain. Now, then, what did she want?”
“Say, Chick,” exclaimed Patsy. “Hold on! Mr. Mountain has seen her in the makeup she had when she left Seventeenth Street.”
“That’s all right, Patsy, but she made a change on her way up here. Now, Mr. Mountain, what did she want?”
“Well, after telling me she was one of Nick Carter’s men, she asked if I had got my notice. I refused to say anything to her on the subject, and when she talked Nick Carter I told her, as Mr. Carter had instructed me, that I had nothing to do with him, and wanted to have nothing to do.
“He—that is, she, if it is a she—began to threaten me with Nick Carter’s power, but I wouldn’t have it. I stood pat on Mr. Carter’s instructions.”
“That is first-rate,” said Chick. “I see the game through and through. It was an effort to be satisfied whether or not Nick Carter is employed by you.”
“Well, then, she is satisfied that he is not, for I lied like a trooper.”
“Good! Now, then, you have got your notice?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“By letter. It was thrust into my hand as I entered the theatre here.”
“May I see it?”
Mr. Mountain took a letter from his pocket, handing it to Chick, who, after reading it, passed it to Patsy. It read:
“Mr. M.: To-morrow at 5 P. M. Be at the entrance of the Park Avenue Hotel, prepared to do business, as I require. Make no mistake as to the amount. You will be met by one who will bring you to me. If you are accompanied by any one, or, if any one is concealed there to watch and follow, I shall know it, and if you play tricks the game will be up. Be prompt.“The Brown Robin.”
“Mr. M.: To-morrow at 5 P. M. Be at the entrance of the Park Avenue Hotel, prepared to do business, as I require. Make no mistake as to the amount. You will be met by one who will bring you to me. If you are accompanied by any one, or, if any one is concealed there to watch and follow, I shall know it, and if you play tricks the game will be up. Be prompt.
“The Brown Robin.”
“So it’s business to-morrow,” said Chick.
“It seems so,” replied Mr. Mountain. “I want to see Carter on this business; I meant to go to him after the theatre.”
“Don’t; let him go to you,” said Chick. “You will be seen and followed if you go. He will get to you unseen.”
“I suppose that is so,” said Mr. Mountain, thoughtfully. “You will inform him then?”
“Yes; I will take this letter to him.”
Chick was thoughtful a moment, then handed the letter back, saying:
“On second thoughts, Mr. Mountain, keep that letter in your pocket. You may be required to show it, and it may be well to do it, if so.”
“How?”
“The man who first came to you may show up before the evening is over.”
“I see.”
“A lot may be done to find out whether you are acting in good faith before they put their heads in the trap.”
“I follow you. Good! I am to act as I meant to come down in earnest.”
“That is it.”
The bell sounded again to notify of the raising of the curtain.
“Go back, Mr. Mountain, as if nothing had occurred here,” said Chick.
Mr. Mountain went into the lobby, and Chick asked an attendant if there was a way out of the room except through the lobby.
An unknown way was pointed out, and through it Chick and Patsy went out to Broadway.
Here Chick said:
“Now, Patsy, go into the theatre and keep up the watch. I think Mountain will be shadowed home; follow if he is. I shall hunt up the chief.”
Patsy obeyed, and went into the theatre, paying his admission, to see the man he had followed earlier in the day, in the same disguise in which he had come from the Seventeenth Street house; that is to say, the Brown Robin, standing just within the audience hall.
He took up a standing position near her.
Chick hurried across town to Nick’s apartments and arrived a few minutes after Nick had returned from his walk with Edith.
The famous detective listened intently to what Chick had to tell.
“This is great work of yours, Chick,” he said. “You have proved satisfactorily what I have suspected ever since I was at the Brown Robin’s house as Mr. Cary.
“The suspicion that the man that followed me this morning and was followed by Patsy afterward was a woman came to me when he took me to the Lexington house.”
“I was looking for the knock-kneed gait that the keen-witted Patsy spoke of, and then it struck me it was a woman, well padded and made up.”
“But, chief, you saw the man go out of the Lexington Avenue house just as the Brown Robin came to you.”
“No, I didn’t, Chick,” replied Nick, with a smile. “I heard it. But I dropped then, or thought I did, that thetwo voices were from the same person—a little play played for my benefit.
“She is a great actress, Chick, and a thundering smart woman. She has the energy of the devil. When she left me, as Mr. Cary, in Twenty-third Street, she must have come straight over here. Leaving here, she made for the Seventeenth Street house, to make her change for the night’s work.
“That was a great piece of work of yours to go into that house. It proved the fact, and shows up her game.
“I can see now how she baffled all the others. She has three houses to work in, and in the Lexington Avenue house she is seen only as a woman, except as she ordered it to-day.
“She is great on makeup, and she plays the game herself. Well, she makes the big strike to-morrow, and we’ll have her.
“We’ll meet her with her own cunning.
“But come, we’ll go to Mr. Mountain’s house, to be there before he gets back from the theatre.
“Take my word for it, Chick, the Thirtieth Street house is to be the scene of the big strike.”
With this, the two detectives set out for Mr. Mountain’s residence.
Patsy arrived early the next morning to report to Nick that on the night previous the Brown Robin, still in male attire, had followed Mr. Mountain to his home, after that gentleman had left the theatre with his family.
She had been around the front of the house for some little time, and then, as if satisfied that Mr. Mountain was housed for the night, had left, going directly to the corner of Thirty-fourth Street and Sixth Avenue, where she met two men, evidently awaiting her coming.
Only a word or two was exchanged between them, and they then set off at a quick pace, going straight to the Thirtieth Street house, where the Brown Robin had unlocked the doors and let the two men in.
She did not enter the house herself, but now hurried to Lexington Avenue, where she took the car, getting off at Twenty-third Street, and going to the Seventeenth Street house, which she entered some time after midnight.
She was there but a short time, when she came out clad in woman’s clothes, and went straight to the Lexington Avenue house, evidently her day’s work done.
“Well,” said Nick, “it was a hard day’s work, and she filled in all her time.
“She was arranging her programme for to-morrow.We have arranged our programme, too. Those two men that she let into the Thirtieth Street house are there to help her in the strike on Mr. Mountain.
“I doubt if there will be any others on hand. You need not watch it this morning. My plans have been slightly changed since my talk with Mr. Mountain last night.
“But I want you to put yourself in a place outside where you can follow me this morning when I go out: I suppose the Brown Robin will try to spring her trap on me this morning.”
Patsy had been gone but a few moments when a messenger boy arrived with a letter for Nick.
It was signed by Mrs. Ansel, and said that the place appointed for her in which to meet the Brown Robin was in Seventeenth Street at eleven o’clock, and it asked if Mr. Carter would meet the writer at a well-known department store in Sixth Avenue at 10 A. M., naming the entrance at which Mrs. Ansel would be waiting.
Nick carefully examined the letter and noted several things. The stationery was not the same as that which had been used for the former letters; the handwriting was not the same, and the letter was framed so skillfully that it was made to look like the letter of a woman asking an assignation with a man.
Nick called Edith and asked her to read the letter. As Edith was doing so he took some papers from his pocket, and from these selected a blank sheet and an envelope.
“Compare this blank paper and the paper on which this note is written,” said Nick.
“It is the same,” said Edith.
“Even the most cunning make their slips,” said Nick. “I found this blank paper on a table in the parlor of the Brown Robin in Lexington Avenue, as I did also a sheet of the other paper. Keep them, and the letter as well.
“I am off to meet this very cunning person and see what her little game is. I confess I can’t quite see through it.”
He went away, and promptly at ten appeared at the entrance of the department store named.
The Brown Robin was waiting, and, as he approached, Nick did not fail to observe a flash of triumph in the eyes of that person.
She arose to meet him, and welcomed him cordially.
“I was very much afraid that you would fail me,” she said.
“Oh, no,” he said, carelessly. “I am quite anxious to see this Brown Robin.”
“Why, indeed!”
“She must be an attractive person. An old gentleman who ought to know better was caught by her, and rushed off to me to get him out of his trouble. But before I could get to work, he backed out of the matter, and, I think, because she has entangled him in her charms.”
The one beside him looked up quickly at Nick, but she could not read his face.
“They say,” said she, “that there is no fool like an old fool. I suppose you could not be caught that way.”
“A man is very foolish to boast of his ability to resistthe charms of a pretty woman,” said Nick, gravely. “I have seen too many strong men caught to be boastful myself.”
“Perhaps it is the story of her charms that makes you so willing to go with me?”
“Perhaps,” replied Nick, “but I think it is more out of curiosity to see the woman who has baffled the police forces of so many large cities. It might be useful, you know, to me some time. There’s no knowing how soon a case in which she is operating may be given me.”
To this the pretended Mrs. Ansel made no reply.
After a moment Nick said:
“Ought we not to go?”
“As it draws near to the time, I am a little frightened,” she said.
Nevertheless she made preparations to start.
They went out of the store, walking down Sixth Avenue to Eighteenth Street, and then through that street to Fifth Avenue.
On the corner of that street the pretended Mrs. Ansel suddenly gave a little scream, clung tightly to Nick for a moment, and then leaped into a doorway, hiding herself.
Nick did not follow her, but stood still, watching her. The woman peered out cautiously; finally she came with a greatly frightened air to him, gasping out:
“My husband! He just crossed the street.”
“What then?” asked Nick.
“Oh, if he had seen you with me there would have been such a row. He is so jealous—so suspicious!”
“Come along and point him out to me.”
He fairly pulled her to the corner, but, reaching it, the pretended Mrs. Ansel could not see her husband.
“That frightens me,” she said. “He may have seen me. He may be hiding to watch me. Oh, come away!”
She hurried across the street, Nick following her.
From that time on she kept up her nervous, frightened manner, until the door of the Seventeenth Street house was reached.
“What an admirable actress she is!” thought Nick. “She is wasting great talents in a dangerous game when she might win fame on the stage.”
At this house, looking up at the number, she said:
“This is the place. Shall we go in?”
“That is what we came for, isn’t it?” asked Nick.
Without another word, the pretended Mrs. Ansel mounted the steps and rang the bell. Nick followed her up leisurely.
The door was opened promptly by a large, stalwart woman dressed as a servant.
To this person the pretended Mrs. Ansel said:
“Mrs. Ansel and Mr. Nicholas Carter, to see the person named on this.”
She handed a small slip of paper to the servant.
The servant closed the door and ushered them into the parlor, going out into another part of the house.
She was back again in a few moments to say that the lady of the house was engaged for the present, but would see them shortly.
Nick said to himself:
“All this is well done, but what is the game?”
In the meantime the pretended Mrs. Ansel showed every evidence of the natural nervousness that a woman placed in the position she pretended to be in might show.
Nick had seated himself at a little distance from her, but shortly she beckoned him to a seat beside her on the sofa.
“I don’t think I can stand this suspense,” she said. “It is all I can do to keep from fainting.”
And no sooner had she said this than she reeled over, falling completely into Nick’s arms.
At that very moment, a man whose face was blazing with anger, rushed into the room, crying:
“So, I have tracked you at last. I have you with your paramour, in fact. You wretch!”
To all appearances the woman had fainted dead away and did not hear the angry words.
Nick lifted her up and laid her on the sofa where she lay as he put her, and stood up.
“Who are you?” asked Nick.
“Who am I?” repeated the other. “The deceived husband.”
“Is your name Ansel?”
“Yes. I am the husband of that wretched woman.”
“Well, is the fact that a woman faints evidence against her?”
“Don’t trifle with me, sir. I have followed you here. I knew she had an appointment with some one this morning. I watched and have found her in her guilt.”
“In the house of the blackmailer known as the Brown Robin?” sneered Nick.
At this moment the pretended Mrs. Ansel opened her eyes, started up, and cried out:
“My husband! I am ruined!”
Again she toppled off into a faint.
“I suppose this is a well-worked game?” said Nick. “Well, play it to the end. How much do you want? Make it as easy as you can. I can’t afford much, but I can’t afford a scandal about my name.”
As he said this, Nick carefully watched the Brown Robin, and was certain he saw first a look of surprise and then of triumph on what was supposed to be an unconscious face.
“Money,” cried the man, “I want no money. Would money restore my wretched home, my happiness, the mother of my children?”
Nick could hardly restrain a smile, for the man was clearly over-acting. But Nick kept up the pretense, for he wanted to see where the game was to lead to.
“No; but you shall sign a confession. You shall give me the proof. You shall give me the means of tearing asunder these bonds that have now become hateful to me.
“Here, sign this!”
He drew a paper from his pocket, and, spreading it ona table, gestured in the most melodramatic manner to Nick to sign it.
Nick crossed the room and took up the paper.
As he lifted it to read he saw that the pretended Mrs. Ansel had recovered consciousness, and was sitting upright on the sofa.
As soon as she saw Nick had observed her, she began to play her part.
“Oh, my husband!” she cried; “be merciful. I know appearances are against me, but you are mistaken. I have done no wrong. Listen to reason. This is not a lover. It is Mr. Carter, the great detective.”
“I care not who he is,” cried the other, in a great pretense of fury. “You met him by appointment. I watched you send the letter. I saw him meet you. I tracked you here. I saw you in his arms. I have witnesses. Sign you, sir!”
It was very cheap acting, but through it all Nick had read the paper, and saw that it was an effort to make him compromise himself by signing it.
“I shall sign nothing of this kind!” he said, quietly.
“You won’t. You won’t give me justice!” cried the man, in a very tempest of fury.
“I won’t sign this ridiculous document,” said Nick, “for it is not true.”
“Then I will take action at once. You must stay here. What, ho, my friends!”
Three men, thorough ruffians, looking like dissipated prize-fighters, appeared.
“You will watch this man until I return. I go for my lawyer and a magistrate. Hold this man until I return. Come with me, you faithless woman!”
He sprang at the pretended Mrs. Ansel, and, seizing her by the arm, whirled her out of the room.
Nick sat down and laughed. The over-acting of the cheap actor, hired for the occasion, was ludicrous. But the three ruffians, armed with revolvers, were ugly facts.
He now saw the game. The trap had been sprung. It was a device to get him under control while the big strike on Mountain was being worked.
Either the Brown Robin feared he had been retained by Mr. Mountain, or she had learned, despite his efforts to the contrary, that he really had been.
“Well,” he said, looking at the three brutes, “what is your game?”
“To keep you here all day,” replied one of them.
“Oh, is it?” asked Nick. “What has become of the woman that was here?”
“She has gone out with her husband.”
“Oh, drop that, my lads,” said Nick. “That was the Brown Robin. I knew that when I came in here with her.”
The three men grinned, and one said to the other:
“I told her she couldn’t fool him.”
“I suppose you mean to earn your money by keeping me here?” said Nick.
“Yer right, guv-ner.”
“Well, I don’t know that I can blame you,” said Nick, “but I want to know for sure that the woman is gone.”
“She’s gone, all right.”
“Well, take me through the house, and let me be certain.”
“There can’t be any harm in that,” said one. “Go ahead quietly, me and Smithy’ll go behind.”
Thus escorted, Nick went through and made sure the Brown Robin had fled the house.
After all, it was a vulgar trap which had been laid for him.
He returned to the parlors and sat down a while. Then he asked one of the men to open a window and let a little air in.
When this was done, he took some cigars from his pocket and handed them to his guards.
Then he went to the piano, and, seating himself, to the great pleasure of the three brutes, he sang:
“Come to me, darling, I’m lonely without thee,Daytime and nighttime I’m dreaming about thee.”
“Come to me, darling, I’m lonely without thee,
Daytime and nighttime I’m dreaming about thee.”
He knew Patsy, and probably Chick, were without and would take his song as a call for them.
Nor was he mistaken. But a few minutes passed when his quick ears heard a sound at the front door that told him the lock was being picked.
Again he seated himself at the piano, and began to sing and play. The brutes were attentive upon him.
But, through the corner of his eye, he saw Chick at the hall door.
Wheeling about on the piano stool, he sprang to his feet, and, drawing his revolver, cried out:
“Down, you dogs!”
Chick sprang into the room from the front door and Patsy came in from the rear room, revolvers up.
The brutes, taken by astonishment, could not rally in time, and, seeing they were powerless, threw up their hands.
“Take their guns, Patsy,” said Nick.
This the lad quickly did, while Nick and Chick covered them.
“Boys,” said Nick, “I’m sorry to treat you so, but I must. You must be bound and gagged, but I’ll let you loose in time.”
The three did not dare to make resistance, and, making them as comfortable as circumstances would permit, the three detectives took care to carefully lock the house up. Then they quietly departed.
“It was a stupid way,” said Nick to Patsy and Chick, as they walked away, “and more like a cheap melodrama than anything else. Really, I believe the Brown Robin has been an actress some time in her life.”
* * * * * * * *
Shortly before five o’clock that afternoon Mr. Mountain, with a small package under his arm, appeared on the steps of the Park Avenue Hotel.
He had not been there long before the young man who had first called on him came up.
It was, of course, the Brown Robin. Her tactics were precisely the same as they had been with Mr. Cary the day before, that is, with Nick disguised as Mr. Cary.
And the same questions were put to him as to any person being in concealment.
When these had been answered as the person desired, Mr. Mountain was asked if he was ready to go and see the Brown Robin.
“Yes,” replied Mr. Mountain, “if it is to be done, let us do it right away. But first let me go into the hotel with this.”
The young man was reluctant, but yet he followed and Mr. Mountain, going to the desk, asked the clerk to place it in the safe and give it to no one but himself.
This done, the two walked out of the hotel.
As Nick had foreseen, their way was up to the Thirtieth Street house. What the young man did not see was a trick played by Mr. Mountain, a trick taught him by Nick.
Every three or four steps they took, a small piece of paper fluttered from Mr. Mountain’s hand. It was thus Nick could ascertain that the Thirtieth Street house was their destination.
Everything moved precisely as it had the day before. The young man showed Mr. Mountain into the parlor and disappeared to call the person Mr. Mountain had come to see.