Nick was not in a mood to be given the slip, nor to stand upon ceremony if threatened with anything of that kind. He had deferred arresting the man only with a view to trailing him until he could discover his confederates, as well as the hiding place of the stolen plate. Walking more rapidly, therefore, Nick quickly arrived at the alley into which his quarry had disappeared. Still, he could not discover him. The alley ran through to a more open area, in which there were several old sheds and hovels. Beyond them was a small, square stone building of only two low stories and having a flat roof. Its few narrow windows were protected with iron shutters, all of which were closed and secured. The general appearance of the building denoted that it once had been used for storing explosives of some kind before municipal regulations prohibited it. It then appeared to be unoccupied and out of use, however, and directly beyond it loomed the blank, windowless brick wall of a brewery fronting on the next street. Nick lost no time in picking his way through the narrow alley. Even then, he could not at first discover his man. Passing quickly around two of the sheds mentioned, however, he then saw him in a small wooden building near the stone structure described. The door of it was wide open, and the man was seated on a low stool within, engaged in pulling a quantity of rags from his burlap bag and tossing them upon a rag heap in one corner. For the first time, in view of all this, Nick began to fear that he had mistaken the man’s identity. This seemed even more probable in that he did not appear disturbed by the approach of the detective, merely looking up with a questioning stare when he paused at the open door. “How’s the rag business, old man?” Nick inquired, a bit bluntly. “Bad--vair bad!” was the reply, with a cracked and cackling voice. “Little doing, eh?” “Vair liddle. Nodding at all.” “Is this where you store your stuff?” questioned Nick, stepping inside the low building. “Ven I have anyding to store.” “How long have you been here?” “Vell, not long. I just game in.” “How long, I mean, have you had this place for your business?” “Vat is it to you?” came the question, with a sharper scrutiny. “Vat for you vish to know?” “Merely from curiosity,” said Nick, drawing nearer to him. “I saw you in the railway yard a short time ago, didn’t I?” “I vas dere,” nodded the man. “You have eyes. Mebbe you might have saw me.” Nick laughed a bit grimly. “I saw you, all right,” he replied, with rather ominous intonation. “Do you go there after rags?” “Junk,” was the terse rejoinder. “That all?” “Vat all?” questioned the man, looking up sharply. “Vat for do you care vy I go dere?” “Merely from curiosity,” Nick repeated. “Vell, you vas better pocket your curiosity,” snapped the other. “Junk--that’s vat I said.” “I heard you.” “For vat else would I go dere?” “That’s what I want to know,” Nick said more sternly.