“Gammon is a man of his word. I happen to know that, my friend, or I would not have employed him for work of this kind. So am I a man of my word,” Sir Edward forcibly added. “I am a man of high standing in England, a man of character and ambition, in the way of which is the one barrier I now want removed. An earldom and a vast fortune await me when that is out of my way.” “This man Waldmere?” “Yes.” “What is he to you?” “I am his uncle. His father, the Earl of Eggleston, is my only brother. He is dying, if not already dead, and his title and vast estate will soon be mine, providing Waldmere is dead and out of the way. Can you doubt, then, that I will pay you the price agreed upon with Gammon?” Sir Edward forcibly questioned. “Why, man, I will pay even more liberally. I will double the amount, and it shall be paid when----” “One moment,” Pimlico interrupted. “Has Gammon told you where Waldmere is confined?” “No, he has not.” “Or who I really am and where I hang out?” “No, neither.” “Have you any idea?” “Not the slightest. I have left it all to Gammon. Nor do I care about that, Mr. Pimlico,” Sir Edward added. “If you will do what I require, if you will put this man away, if you will complete your work at once and contrive that positive proof of Waldmere’s death shall be found, I will do all that I have agreed to do and something more than that, as soon as----” He stopped short. A pencil with which Pimlico had been toying had slipped from his fingers and fallen to the floor. Sir Edward Chadwick leaned over to pick it up and replace it on the table. When he straightened up and again gazed at his visitor--he underwent a change as if death had suddenly claimed him. There had been an equally quick change in the other. Mr. Pimlico had disappeared. His gray wig and flowing beard were lying on the floor. His right hand held a revolver, his left a pair of handcuffs, and the stern face that now met the gaze of the horrified Englishman was that of--Nick Carter. It wore an expression far different from that seen by the designing Englishman in the library of the detective’s residence a short time before. He thought he then had played his cards well. He had succeeded only in sealing his own fate. How he had been duped, by what means it had been accomplished, or how much more the detective knew than he had blindly told him--into none of these did Sir Edward Chadwick pause to inquire. With a half-smothered oath, with his great white teeth meeting with an audible snap, he started to rise and reached for a weapon. Nick Carter was much too quick for him, however. His hands shot like a flash across the table. They closed with a viselike grip on those of the titled crook. There was a swirl of glittering steel around his brawny wrists, a quick snap of the double locks, and Sir Edward Chadwick was secured in manacles almost before he knew it.