“This does settle it,” he fiercely muttered. “A detective--that’s what he is!” “Sure thing,” snarled Magill. “Search him from head to foot, Phelan. We must find out who he is and where we stand. See if that hair is his own and--ah, it’s not his own, eh? Off with it, Phelan, the whole business.” Phelan set to work with vicious zest, and in a very few moments he not only had Patsy stripped of his disguise, but also the contents of his pockets spread upon the table--handcuffs, searchlight, two revolvers, a well-filled pocketbook, a handkerchief, keys, and other minor articles. None of them bore his name and address, however, nor did Nick’s brief, though very significant note, bear his signature. A cry of increasing rage broke from Magill when the truth thus was forced upon him, but Gridley checked him with a gesture, saying sternly: “You keep quiet, Turk, and let me handle this fellow.” “But, blast him----” “There aren’t any buts,” snapped Gridley. “I’m chief of this gang, and what I say goes. I’ll wring the truth out of him, you can bet on that, and we then shall know where we stand. Tell me at once--who are you?” The last was fiercely addressed to Patsy, but Patsy was undisturbed by his ferocity. He met his fiery gaze with a frigid stare, replying indifferently: “Jack Dolan, just as I’ve told you.” “That’s a lie,” snapped Gridley. “You’d say that if I told you the truth. So I might as well hand you one name as another.” “Oh, is that so? You mean, then, that you won’t tell me?” “I already have told you.” “Let it go at that, then, for the present,” said Gridley, with ominous severity. “Who gave you this note?” “The party who wrote it,” said Patsy dryly. “What’s his name?” “I dunno, Mr. Gridley, on the dead. It has slipped my mind.” “Hang him!” cried Magill impatiently. “He’s giving us the laugh. String him up and force him to answer.” “You keep quiet,” Gridley again commanded; then to Patsy: “Why were you told to shadow this woman? That hasn’t slipped your mind?” “No; sure thing,” said Patsy, with a glance at Kate Crandall. “I can remember that, all right.” “Out with it, then. Why were you told to shadow her?” “To find out where she went,” Patsy dryly admitted. “By Heaven, if you don’t loosen up and tell me, I’ll find a way to make you!” Gridley thundered. “Who gave you this note? To whom are you to telephone any discoveries you may----” He broke off abruptly, hit with a sudden idea, and turned sharply around to his listening confederates. “What was the number he mentioned?” he cried. “Can you remember it?” “Sure!” cried Blink Morgan. “Four, seven Madison!” “Get that telephone book.” Gridley pointed to the table. “Look for the police headquarters. See if that’s their number.” “Rats!” growled Phelan. “He ain’t a police sleuth. He’s no plain clothsie. I know that push.” “Try the private agencies, then,” snapped Gridley. “Look up--stop a bit! Begin with Nick Carter. Try him. Look up his number.”