“That may be significant,” Nick whispered. “He expects some one, perhaps, at an appointed time.” Nick was right, and eight o’clock brought the expected visitor. He knocked once, then twice, on the Englishman’s door. The detectives could see him quite plainly in the lighted corridor, a stocky, smooth-shaved man in a plaid overcoat and wearing a fur cap. Nick could see his face only in profile while he waited, but he felt sure he had previously seen him, though he could not then say where. When Sir Edward Chadwick admitted him, however, and the stocky man entered and removed his cap, revealing in the bright light of the room a strikingly bald head, as round as a bullet and glistening like a billiard ball, Nick identified him on the instant. “Great Scott!” he whispered to Chick, as the Englishman closed the door. “That’s Baldy Gammon. That does settle it.” CHAPTER VII. MR. PIMLICO. Nick Carter, though he never had seen the man, now knew where he had seen the face. He had trained himself never to forget the face of a crook, even though seen only as he had seen that of Baldy Gammon. It was included in his rogues’ gallery, two excellent photographs, front and profile, on a Bertillon signaletic card sent to him from Scotland Yard about two years before. The card contained also a description and the criminal record of one Jasper Gammon, nicknamed Baldy Gammon because of his bald head. There could be no mistaking this fellow, who had a notorious record as a confidence man, sneak thief, and all-around swindler. “Baldy Gammon?” muttered Chick, not placing him. “Who the deuce is he?” Nick quietly informed him, at the same time taking up the dictograph receiver and holding it to his ear. Every word uttered in the opposite suite could be distinctly heard, every sound that was made, in fact, and Nick whispered the interview to Chick while the scene in the suite across the hall was in progress. Minds as keen and perceptive as those of the two detectives could easily supply most of the following invisible details: Sir Edward Chadwick closed the door and waved Baldy Gammon to a chair, taking one opposite his visitor. “Well, you are on time,” he said approvingly, though his voice still had the hard twang that had grated on Nick’s ears and suggested the flinty nature of the speaker. “Yes, Sir Edud,” replied Gammon, with a pronounced vernacular. “I allas makes it a point to be on time--allas, Sir Edud.” “Well, skip all else and light upon the issue,” said Chadwick. “What’s the verdict?” Baldy Gammon drew forward in his chair and announced, with manifest satisfaction, together with a leer in his coal-black eyes. “We’ve got ’im, Sir Edud, got ’im foul and dead to rights. In other words, Sir Edud, we’ve got ’im just where we wants ’im.” “I already know that, Mr. Gammon,” returned Chadwick bluntly. “You does?” Baldy Gammon looked surprised, and Sir Edward Chadwick proceeded to explain.