“But what’s the big idea?” Floyd repeated, staring steadily at Nick. “Why are you seeking information about a dead man? Is there anything wrong with his record?” “That’s what I wish to learn.” “Who put you on the job?” “His wife.” “Why so? Why has she gone up in the air? What does she suspect?” Floyd glibly inquired. “It does not much matter what she thinks,” Nick slowly answered. “That’s neither here nor there at this stage of the game.” “Humph! Is that so?” “What I suspect is much more material. I came here to ask a few questions, Mr. Floyd, not to answer a string of inquiries from you. Please bear that in mind.” Nick’s voice had taken on a subtle and somewhat threatening ring. He gazed at his hearers with a sharper gleam in his impressive eyes. He saw Floyd frown quickly, while Sheldon’s bearded face grew quite haggard and ghastly in the greenish light cast upon it through the drooping silk shade. “Bear it in mind, eh?” Floyd curtly questioned. “That’s what I said,” Nick returned. “Why do you speak like that? I’m not likely to answer questions put to me in that fashion.” “Oh, yes, you are,” Nick retorted. “Otherwise, I shall take steps to compel you to answer them. Bear that in mind, also.” Floyd jerked his chair nearer the table. “See here, Mr. Carter, what’s the meaning of this?” he demanded aggressively. “What do you suspect, that you come here and----” “Never mind what I suspect,” Nick interrupted. “What I want to know, Mr. Floyd, is what sort of a game you and Sheldon and Kate Crandall are playing? How does Jim Dacey figure in it? What are you scheming to get from Cyrus Darling by----” “Get from him be hanged!” Floyd cut in sharply. “You’re talking through your hat. Cyrus Darling is dead and buried----” “No, he isn’t.” “Not dead?” “Not by a long chalk!” Nick sternly declared. “He is alive, very much alive, as I shall presently convince you. I know that without your informing me. I know, too, that you fellows are responsible for his supposed suicide. I know that you----” Nick stopped short at that point. Floyd’s right hand suddenly appeared above the edge of the table. It held a revolver--aimed point-blank at the detective’s breast. “You know too much, Carter, for your own good,” he hissed viciously between his teeth. “If you move foot or finger, I’ll send a bullet through your heart. Sit quiet, Sheldon, and keep your mouth shut.” Nick Carter did not appear at all disturbed by the sudden threatening turn of the situation. He had deliberately invited it, in fact, though it came so much more quickly than he expected, that it found him partly unprepared. Without stirring from his position, he gazed across the table at Floyd’s hard-set face, replying sternly: “Your threat is equivalent to a confession. You have decided, then, to fly your true colors. That is what I wanted.”