One of the stablemen threw open the great doors as they looked. Instantly Nick sprang inside, closely followed by Patsy, and went to a carriage standing on the floor, travel stained, the wheels covered with dust and mud. On the hind axle was loosely tied a bit of yellow cotton cloth, to which he directed Patsy’s attention. Turning to the man who had followed them, Nick said: “That carriage has been out nearly all night?” “Well, is it any business of yours?” replied the stableman, in a surly tone. “Answer my question,” sternly demanded Nick. “Didn’t know that you asked the question,” replied the man. “Has that carriage been out over night?” asked Nick, in a calm, icy voice. The man was overawed, and replied that it had been out all night, not getting back until after daylight. “Did you drive the coach?” asked Nick. “No; the man who drove it has just gone to lie down.” “Go call him.” “What for?” “Because I tell you. I’m Nick Carter.” The man started on hearing this, and went to the rear of the floor, where a man was lying on some carriage cushions which he had piled up in the corner. Nick and Patsy had followed, and Nick said to the man: “Don’t get up, but answer a few questions of mine. You had a party out last night. How many were there of that party?” “Two.” “What did they look like?” The man laughed, and replied: “Hard to tell. They changed their looks two or three times.” “Where did they go?” “One man came here first and hired the coach,” said the man, “and he was a black-haired, black-eyed man. Then he drove up to Forty-second Street and Avenue A, where he took in another man. Then they drove down to the Bowery and into Fourth Street, where they left the coach and told me to wait for them. They staked me to wait until they came back. “It was near daylight when the second one came to me and, getting in the coach, went down to the corner of Rivington Street. “Waiting there ten minutes, the first one came up running, jumped into his coach with something in his hands, and told me to drive like the devil up Fourth Avenue. “When we got as far as Twenty-third Street, they stopped me, gave me a twenty-dollar bill, and went off down Twenty-third Street to Third Avenue. “I drove home.” “Were you followed by anybody?” “Yes,” replied the man, with a look of surprise. “There was a coach that stuck close to us all night.” “Did the men you were riding know it?” “No,” replied the man. “A fellow came out of the other coach when I was in Fourth Street and told me he’d break my head if I let the other fellows know that he was following--and he meant it, too.” Patsy laughed. “It wasn’t anything to laugh about,” said the man. “If you’d seen him, you wouldn’t have laughed.” Nick was satisfied the man had nothing more to tell, and he turned away, followed by Patsy, to whom he said, as he walked across the floor of the carriage-room: