Nick assumed, however, that the miner would first telephone downstairs. The din would make it difficult for him to be understood, though; and even if he were, he would doubtless grow impatient at the delay and soon leave his room to complain in person to the clerk. The fact that he was already dressed would make that easy, and Nick counted on his doing so sooner or later. At any rate, he had arranged with Stickney that the bell should continue its exasperating dinning if possible until Stone had been routed out. On the other hand, there was a possibility, of course, that the man would not act in accordance with expectations. He might remain at the telephone, or even demolish the bell in his anger, especially as he would doubtless be afraid that it would arouse Crawford, and that the latter might not fall asleep again for some time. Nick had to run that risk, though; and now he was impatiently awaiting some sign that his ruse was working as he wished. The muffled ringing of the bell prevented him from telling whether Stone was telephoning or not, but he had no doubt that such was the case. Would the man stop at that, though? Evidently not; for two or three minutes after the bell began to ring he caught the sound of an opening door, despite the racket, and almost immediately afterward hurried footsteps passed his room. He waited for nothing more, but crawled through his window near to the neighboring platform of the fire escape and laid hands on Stone’s sash. It came up easily, and revealed an empty room, and the door ajar. It was a risky undertaking, and one that was full of uncertainties. The irate miner might return at any moment. Crawford might come in from the adjoining room and denounce him as a suspicious character, or some one else might put in an appearance to investigate the noise which must have been disturbing many by that time. Worst of all, Stone had left the door partly open and the light on, so that Nick had to work in the open, with a possibility of being seen and interrupted at any moment. None of these things seemed to worry him, though. He slipped cautiously into the room and looked about him with keen eyes. A faint ejaculation of satisfaction escaped his lips as he caught sight of what he was looking for. There was a small writing desk close to the head of the bed. It was open, and on the extended leaf lay a small, flat, leather case. Leaping forward, Nick opened the case and took out a small hypodermic syringe. The plunger had been drawn back to its fullest extent, and the detective’s lips tightened as he realized that in that little cylinder lurked sure death. He paid no attention to the other articles in the case—the tiny bottle with some colorless drug, the bit of sponge, and so on. He cared nothing for them, and was interested only in the deadly hypodermic.