Nick’s own room had remained in darkness. He now drew a chair close to his window and took up his vigil, his arms resting on the sill. Fifteen or twenty minutes later the light vanished in Crawford’s room. In order to make sure, the detective hurriedly rose, slipped to his own door, and opened it slightly. His friend did not appear in the corridor, which was sufficient proof that he was going to bed. Nick reclosed his door and locked it. “You are settled for the night,” he thought; “and now for Stone.” He was possessed of the infinite patience that means so much to a detective, and is so essential to the success of any one who takes up that profession. The rumble of traffic gradually died down, and light after light went out in the hotel. At last, in the distance the clock in the Metropolitan tower struck twelve. Yet the bunch light still glowed in the courtyard below, and many windows were rectangles of light, bright or subdued, as the case might be, for New York is very slow to go to bed. The detective’s lower sash was raised about six or eight inches, and that fact at length enabled him to hear a slight sound in the courtyard, even before his watchful eyes had warned him of the approach. He did not make the mistake of leaning out of the window. Indeed, it would not have been easy to do so, in view of the narrow space he had left. In any case, it was unnecessary. The painter’s ladder was well within his range of vision, and a few moments later he had the satisfaction of seeing two figures steal into view and grasp it. They had come from the open end of the courtyard, which was on Nick’s side, and out of his sight. They picked up the ladder and started to sidle across the court in the direction of the fire escape. There was more than a hint of sinister purpose in their furtive movements, and an instant later first one and then the other raised his head and scanned the tiers of windows above, as if to make sure that they were not observed. As they did so, the lights of the cluster fell on their faces for a fleeting instant, and the muscles of Nick’s jaws tightened. He had barely glanced at the taller figure. It was the shorter, slightly stooped one which interested him most, and he had seen all that was necessary. The second man wore the repellent mask of Stephen Follansbee. CHAPTER XIX. A FIENDISH PLOT. The two skulkers soon disappeared, having drawn too close to the nearer wall for Nick Carter to see them. He put his ear close to the opening, however, and listened. He was enabled to hear the ladder placed against the fire escape, faint though the sound was, and to check off the men’s movements as they climbed upward. When they approached the second floor, he quietly slipped out of his chair and retreated into the shadows in the middle of the room. He did not care to be seen at the window, even though his identity was so well cloaked.