“Start something!” he urged the chauffeur. “Open her up and let’s see you burn up a little asphalt.” CHAPTER XLI. NICK HAS A PLAN. Darkness had descended when Patsy sprang up the steps of Nick Carter’s house. He eagerly inquired for his chief, and learned, to his delight, that he had returned and was in his study. The young assistant fairly sprinted up the stairs, and burst into the room. “Well!” he ejaculated. “I began to think I’d never see you again.” “I usually bob up sooner or later,” was the answer. “What’s all this you’ve been up to? How did you break into this game, I’d like to know?” “That’s just what I did—I broke in,” was the answer. “Chick put me up to it. He was itching to have a hand in the affair, and had a hunch that somebody ought to keep an eye on Follansbee. He couldn’t do it himself, because you had left him in charge of affairs, and so I’ve been losing my beauty sleep—and most of the rest—for several nights. Nothing happened until last night, but since then things have been coming so thick and fast that they’ve taken my breath away.” Nick tried to look stern. “You don’t seem to realize that this is a breach of discipline,” he commented. “Now, chief, don’t be nasty about it,” Patsy pleaded. “Let me get this out of my system. My private information is that you couldn’t have done without me, and when I get through, I think you’ll agree that I haven’t wasted my time.” The detective smiled slightly. “Go ahead and let’s hear it,” he said. “You usually get your way in the end.” After some little beating around, young Garvan launched into an account of his adventures from the time Follansbee and Stone had arrived at the former’s house, until the last glimpse of the miner had been obtained at the private hospital. The look of interest and satisfaction which came into the great detective’s face assured Patsy that he was pardoned. As a matter of fact, the assistant’s report, coupled with what Nick had learned for himself, brought the whole case to a focus, and made plain much that had seemed obscure. “By George, my boy,” the chief commented at the end of the recital, “you certainly have turned a trick or two, and I wish I had known something about it before I bearded Follansbee in his den. If I had, it would have put a very different face on that interview. I was all up in the air about Stone, but now everything is clear enough and——” “Then you’re better off than I am, chief,” his assistant interrupted, “for I can’t make head or tail of it. I thought it was Crawford that that scoundrel Follansbee was plotting against, but it can hardly be doubted that Stone is his victim—or one of them, at least.” “I will give you a little information to complete the exchange,” was the answer. In a few brief sentences the detective gave Patsy his side of the story, and the young man’s eyes fairly flashed as he heard the grim details of the attempt on Winthrop Crawford’s life.