His revolver was out on the instant and its report rang like thunder above all other sounds. Floyd went to the floor with a bullet in his shoulder, and the ladle fell from his lax hand. Chick dropped to the edge of the trapdoor and thrust the smoking weapon through it. “Hands up!” he yelled fiercely. “Up with them! He’ll be a dead man who stirs!” Patsy had darted toward the dimly lighted stairway and already was nearly down. “Dead man is right!” he shouted, weapon leveled. “Move foot or finger, man or woman, and I’ll shoot to kill!” Without exception, the several crooks had knuckled to the sudden startling situation. As a matter of fact, they supposed the building was surrounded and that a posse of police were breaking in on them. Once their hands were up, however, it was all over but the shouting, as Patsy afterward said. Within five minutes the crooks were secured, Floyd among them, he having suffered only a flesh wound. Half an hour later all were in the Tombs, including Minerva Grand, the first step toward the punishment they deserved. Midnight saw the priceless plate, or that most cherished by Waldmere, taken safely into his residence--and thus, crowning with complete success the splendid work of Nick Carter and his assistants, the sensational case ended. The fire under the melting pot had become dead ashes. THE END. Notwithstanding the fact that Floyd and his gang had apparently been rounded up, Nick Carter and his associates were to have yet more trouble with this gang of blackmailers, crooks, and thieves. You will learn about these later developments in “The Duplicate Night; or, Nick Carter’s Double Reflection,” which you will find in the next issue, No. 141, of the NICK CARTER STORIES, out May 22d. Then, too, there will be the usual installment of the serial, together with other special articles which you will enjoy. “TURN TO THE JURY, SIR!” Some years ago a witness was being examined in a case of slander, when the judge required him to repeat the precise words spoken. The witness hesitated until he riveted the attention of the whole court upon him; then fixing his eyes earnestly on the judge, began: “May it please your honor, ‘you lie and steal and get your living by stealing!’” The face of the judge reddened, and he immediately exclaimed: “Turn to the jury, sir!” Where’s the Commandant? By C. C. WADDELL. CHAPTER I. THE GLINT IN THE DARKNESS. Colonel Vedant and his adjutant, Captain Ormsby Grail, hurried down to the Dolliver Foundry, one of the large industrial plants along Brantford’s bustling seven miles of water front, in response to an urgent message from Otto Schilder, manager of the plant. It was ten o’clock at night, but as the Dolliver people were turning out some castings for a wireless telegraph mast of new design, to be erected at Fort Denton, and required frequent consultations with the commandant, there seemed nothing especially strange in the request.