"i got in with a mob of hoboes at patapsco," said patsy. "i know their holes, and when i left the train at patapsco town and went toward the river, i felt sure i'd strike 'em. and what do you think? the main hiker is snub-nosed johnny, who used to be train-boy on the boston and albany. the minute i lamped him i knew the game was mine. inside of five minutes he handed me out a dope about jilson and mannion that put me on velvet. both these guineas were with the gang, mannion for a few days, jilson for several weeks.

"johnny said jilly and mannion—the hoboes called him serious silas—had their blocks together about all the time. one day he saw serious writing a letter for jilly. the letter, he afterward discovered, was to jilly's mother, who lives at hagerstown. did i go to hagerstown? cert. and i found the old lady. she is over seventy, sickly, and a washerwoman. had she heard from her son lately? her old, honest, patient face lit up with a smile that was heavenly in its sweetness. yes, indeed, she had heard from the dear boy, who had forsaken his evil ways and was now at honest work in baltimore.

"he had not forgotten his old mother, for during the past month he had sent her one hundred dollars. and,[188] what was better still, he was on the way to making a lot of money all in a heap, and when he had made it, he intended to send enough to keep her for the rest of her life. then she broke down and cried, but the tears were tears of joy. my eyes were wet, too, and i could not say a word to undeceive her."

"you are a good boy, patsy," said nick, with a look of approbation, "and i'll see that mrs. jilson gets the money she is expecting."

the days came and went. chick appeared, remained a day, and went off again. patsy made several trips out of the city. nick remained, like a spider watching its web. on the afternoon of the day preceding the probate day, upon which so much depended, the detective and patsy were sitting in the e street room, talking over matters pertaining to the morrow's program.

the windows of the room overlooked the street. the detective, while talking to patsy, was seated near one of the windows, and he had occasionally looked out. as patsy was preparing to go out, nick's eye, turning toward the street, fell upon the form of peter mannion, who, cane in hand and with soldierly dignity, was walking along the opposite sidewalk. he glanced up once, saw nick's face, and then quickly turned his head.

the appearance of the man in that quarter, while it might not mean anything, yet gave rise in nick's mind to a suspicion that the uncle was out for a purpose. although peter mannion might think that the scheme upon which he was working was perfect in all its details, yet[189] the presence in washington of the noted detective, nick carter, on the day preceding the calling of the probate cases would have a disquieting effect upon his nerves. nick said a few quick words to patsy, who at once put on his hat, left the room, and went down the stairs.

the boy did not follow peter mannion, but went unconcernedly up the street toward the railway depot. he walked slowly, and nick, without showing his face to passers-by in the street, saw that the uncle had taken note of patsy, had turned about and was now following him. the detective's face showed satisfaction. what the next act on the program would be he could not guess, but that there was an act scheduled for near performance he would have staked his existence.

the day passed without incident. toward dark nick went out and had dinner in a pennsylvania avenue restaurant. after his refreshment he walked about, enjoying his cigar and the calm, soft night. he was standing on the marble walk of the little triangular square at the corner of pennsylvania avenue and seventh street, listening to a colored quartet, the singing adjunct of an outdoor gospel meeting, when peter mannion passed him. nick did not turn his head, and he was satisfied that the uncle was going on under the impression that he had not been observed. where was he going?

nick became a shadower, and when he saw the uncle disappear through the double doors of the metropolitan hotel, a look of disappointment crept into his face. all[190] at once an idea, containing a queer suggestion, came to him. egress from the rear of the hotel would take a person either on to john marshall avenue or c street, and by either route there was a short and easy walk to the detective's quarters on e street.

hurrying around the corner, nick saw no sign of his quarry on the avenue. he then hastened to c street. peter mannion was nowhere in sight. perhaps he had not had time to get there. the detective in the dark shade cast by the sidewalk trees waited for ten minutes, his observation covering both ways of departure from the hotel premises. then he went to the hotel, entered the office, which held only the clerk and several colored attachés, and asked if a person, describing peter mannion, had been in that evening. the reply of the clerk was that the gentleman referred to had engaged a room for the night, and had then gone out.

"by the front way?"

"yes."

"i may have been making a mountain out of a mole-hill," thought nick, as he went out, "but i don't like the look of things. peter has a card to play, and i will confess that he is a deeper man than i imagined."

arrived at the stairway leading to his rooms, he scrutinized it carefully from top to bottom. no trap was there. in the corridor above his searching eye again came into play. all was as it should be. before his own door he paused and listened. silence within. then with his pass-key he unlocked the door and threw it[191] open, but did not enter. the lights inside were out, but the illumination from the street enabled him to see that everything appeared to be as he had left it. true, he could not see into the closet, but, stooping, he could see under the bed.

he was in this posture, when the door of a room on the opposite side of the corridor opened quickly; a man sprang out, and, with uplifted sand-bag, struck the detective a powerful blow on the head. nick flattened out and did not move. swiftly the body of the unconscious detective was dragged into his room, and the door closed and locked. fifteen minutes later nick opened his eyes, to find that he could neither move nor speak. his enemy had restored him to consciousness, but had taken the precaution to bind and gag him.

the room was now full of light, and nick, with aching head but with clear sense, saw that he had fallen a victim to the wiles of peter mannion.

the uncle, seated in an easy chair, looked at the disgruntled man-hunter with an evil smile.

"you did not realize what you were up against?" the harsh voice jeered. "thought you had a farmer in tow, i suppose? well, you might have made the proper crack at arthur, if he had been alive, but you are no match for the mature individual who is now before you."

nick clenched his hands. it was all he could do. he would have gritted his teeth, but the gag was in the way.

"i don't know as this move of mine was required,"[192] peter mannion went on, "for i think the game is in such shape that even nick carter could not have checkmated it. but it's best to have the ground entirely clear. you were obnoxious; the sight of you at craven's the other day offended my sense of proportion. you don't fit into the picture. to-morrow is my day, and butters-in are barred."

the uncle lighted a cigar, and, stooping over, deliberately blew smoke into his captive's face. nick blinked his eyes, but the glance he gave his tormentor was cool and defiant.

"you are probably consoling yourself with the idea," pursued peter mannion, with easy assurance, "that your smart friend, chick, will play your hand in case you are unable to do so. don't think it. it's not on the program. chick may come here to-morrow—i reckon he will—but he will not find you here. he will, however, find a note in your dear handwriting, informing him that you have struck a clue which clinches the whole business beyond the possibility of a doubt, and that he must come to your assistance without the delay of a moment. the note will further state that you are to be found on the outskirts of georgetown, about a mile below the big bridge and at a boat-landing, with boat all ready for a sail. will chick bite? of course, he'll bite. chick is impulsive. even if he suspected a trap he would go, for chick is devoted to you, and would brave any danger for your sake. how do i know this? through nellie, my niece-at-law. chick[193] talked himself nearly blind while he was staying at craven's house. he did not give anything away, but he said lots of nice things about you. wish i could do the same, but i can't. you are not nice in my eyes."

there was a soft expression on the great detective's face. his thoughts were of chick. but when this passed, alarm did not follow. on the contrary, a calm, deadly look shone in his eyes.

"as for patsy," resumed peter mannion, with a contemptuous wave of the hand, "he's a boy and doesn't count. besides, he's out of the way, for i was at the depot to-day, and saw him buy a ticket for new york. and if he does come back here within a week, it will be an easy job to fix him. this is the note which will settle mr. chick," he concluded, as he took from his pocket a folded paper and held it, opened, before nick's eyes.

it bore evidence of having been written hurriedly, but the handwriting was a masterly imitation of the great detective's.

"don't imagine that i did it," said peter mannion, "for such tricks are beyond me. but there's a smart little girl down at craven's who spent a whole day in dressing up the document. how did she get a specimen of your fist? your eyes ask. luck gave it to her. chick's clothes, when they were changed, shed a note which you had written to him, and nellie picked it up from under the bed after he had left the house. there was nothing in the note of value to us outside the handwriting."

[194]

the uncle might be lying, or he might be telling the truth. nick had his own opinion on the matter, but he could not express it, and he would not have expressed it if he could.

"i suppose you are wondering what fate is in store for you?" showing his teeth in a diabolical smile. "it is the fate of the interferer. to-morrow morning you will sleep at the bottom of the potomac. the prospect doesn't seem to frighten you. well, i'll give you credit for being a thoroughbred. pity you hadn't been born with a little more sense. yes, you're booked for fish-bait, all right, and this is how i'll do the job. that big trunk, there in the corner"—pointing to a saratoga—"will hold you fast and sure. a little after daybreak to-morrow morning an expressman will come for it. he will deposit it near the mt. vernon wharf, from which it will be conveyed to a small launch. on board that launch will be your humble servant, and, after an hour's trip down the river, the launch will return without the trunk. am i explicit enough for your understanding?"

nick nodded his head, and peter mannion thought he saw his face blanch with fear and dread.

"everything," the villain went on, as he blew a wreath of smoke toward the ceiling, "has been arranged with care. the landlady of this flat is unsuspicious. she is a german, and she is resting under the belief that i am your elder brother. she did not see me as you see me now. oh, no, nicholas, not for your honey-boy. she talked with a very old man, with two arms—thanks to[195] this wig and these whiskers"—fishing them from his pocket—"and this wooden arm"—picking it up from the floor—"and if she sees me go out, she will again see the same aged abuser of trusting innocence. i have nothing more to say at this moment, except to remark that i shall remain here with you until just before daylight. then i shall put you into the trunk, stuff the blank places with pillows and sheets, lock the trunk, take away the key, and leave you for the kind offices of the expressman."

and so the night passed. nick carter suffered, how much he never told, for he was not one to expose his scars. the cords hurt his wrists and ankles, and the gag was a source of torture. but he bore it all without a sign of distress, and there was nothing of the craven in his pale face when at daylight he was lifted and doubled up into the saratoga trunk.

peter mannion's words as he left the room were these:

"we shall never see each other again. i leave you with this reflection to make more bitter your last hours on earth: for the first time in your life you have bumped up against a smarter man than yourself. ta! ta!"