Patsy needed no introduction to him. The description of him provided by Nancy Nordeck and Mrs. Darling was fresh in his mind. There could be no mistaking him under the circumstances--his dark face, his piercing black eyes, and his drooping black mustache. Yes, Patsy recognized him instantly--but with an unexpected discovery and a thrill that went through him like an electric shock from head to foot. For the figure with which he had collided, that he had seized in his arms to prevent a fall, that at once began to struggle to free itself from his involuntary embrace, was not the figure of a man. It was the supple, yielding figure of--a woman! Patsy guessed the truth on the instant. There was no need for explanations. He knew, now, why Nancy Nordeck had distrusted her master’s visitor, why she felt sure that she had seen him before, and why he had involuntarily betrayed his recognition of her when she first admitted him to the Darling residence. It was a discovery that clinched all of Nick Carter’s suspicions. For Patsy now plainly recognized the cleverly disguised face. It told him on the instant that Philip Floyd and Kate Crandall were one and the same. The recognition was mutual, moreover, and a half-smothered oath broke from the lips of the dismayed woman. “Let me go!” she hissed, struggling viciously. “Let me go, I say!” “Not much!” muttered Patsy exultantly. “I know you, now, and I’ve got you for keeps.” His arms closed more tightly around her. He had seized her, by chance, so that her arms were confined to her sides and she could not free them, could not use them to scratch and tear him, as she fain would have done. But she writhed from side to side like an eel in his powerful grasp, her eyes glowing like balls of fire, her breath coming in quick, sharp gasps and falling hot on Patsy’s cheeks. “Let me go! Let me go!” she repeated in fierce, frantic whispers. “Curse you, let me go!” “Not by a jugful,” said Patsy. “I know you now. You’re Kate Crandall.” “Let me go!” “You’ll go, all right--but you’ll go with me.” “You devil! You----” “Oh, cut out your struggling. You can’t get away,” Patsy interrupted, though content to let her exhaust herself with her furious efforts. “I’ve got you and I’m going to hold you.” “I’ll kill----” “Here, none of that! You’ll be roughly handled if you try to pull a gun.” Patsy had felt her working one hand behind her to reach a hip pocket. He seized her wrist and held her closer, almost crushing her in his embrace; for not for an instant had she ceased her fierce, frantic struggles, and she was possessed of more than ordinary womanly strength and was giving him quite a battle. She muttered a vicious oath again when foiled in her attempt to draw a weapon. Then, while they still swayed to and fro in the narrow entry, she took another course. She suddenly bowed her head and tried to set her teeth in Patsy’s neck.