“True colors be hanged!” snapped Floyd. “You’ll never discover my true colors, Nick Carter, nor get me under your infernal heel. Keep your hands where I can see them, or you’ll get all that’s coming to you.” Nick saw that the hand gripping the weapon was as steady as the voice uttering the threat. He saw, too, that the scowling rascal meant what he said, though his confederate, Sheldon, had gone as white and mute as a corpse. “I shall do nothing to invite a bullet, Mr. Floyd,” he coolly answered, though watchful to seize the slightest opportunity to reverse the situation. “I value a whole skin too highly. But matters cannot remain as they stand. What do you propose doing, now that you have held me up, and----” “You’ll soon see,” snapped Floyd, interrupting. Then, with voice raised: “Hurry up, Martin! Get a move on! Come here, and----” Nick cut him short in characteristic fashion. For the hundredth part of a second Floyd’s eyes were diverted from him. Nick saw the opportunity, and seized it. He heard hurried steps in an adjoining room. He lifted his knees as quick as a flash and upset the table--just as a portière behind him was cast aside and two brawny, powerful men bounded into the room. What followed was of brief duration. The table and books went crashing to the floor. Sheldon caught the lamp as it was falling. Nick reached over the toppling table, and, with a lightninglike move, snatched the revolver from Floyd’s hand. At the same moment came a blow from behind, dealt with the weapon of one of the ruffians who had entered. It was impossible for the detective to avoid it. It fell squarely on the back of his head, knocking him senseless on the instant. He dropped without so much as a groan, face forward over the table. Floyd seized the ribbons again. “Quick!” he cried fiercely. “Take him to my room. The crash must have been heard. Some one may come to investigate it. Wait here, Sheldon, and explain. State that you fell against the table and upset it. This way, Martin, this way! We must get him out of the house, Jim, or our game will go by the board.” Meantime, Nick was being hurriedly removed from the suite, through a rear door. CHAPTER VII. A STARTLING DISCOVERY. Nick Carter had accomplished his object, but at some little cost. He had aimed to force the suspects into some impetuous move that would fully confirm his suspicions. He had expected it to follow his assertion that Cyrus Darling was alive, and that the supposed suicide was but part of a knavish scheme, including Kate Crandall, Jim Dacey, and Cyrus Darling himself. The speedy effect of his declarations, however, as well as the resources of the rascals, had exceeded his anticipations. But there was still another reason for the sudden aggressive move made by Philip Floyd, a reason that Nick could not possibly have anticipated, yet which alone necessitated the desperate step Floyd had taken.