“Take them off! Hang you, take them off!” he fiercely snarled, tugging vainly at them. “What’s the meaning of this? What----” “Silence!” Nick sternly commanded, forcing the frantic man back in his chair. “You know very well what it means. You are under arrest, Sir Edward Chadwick, a would-be murderer by your own blind confession. You will answer to the law for conspiracy with intent to kill. Now, having got the mastery, I will take steps to secure the hirelings.” The Englishman broke forth again with bitter oaths and imprecations, though his face had gone ghastly and his lips were as gray as ashes. “Take them off! Take them off!” he repeated, striving vainly to break the steel bracelets. “You can do nothing. You cannot prove it. My word is as good as yours. There were no witnesses, no----” “You are very much mistaken,” Nick again interrupted sternly. “I have all the corroboration the law will require. There is a dictograph behind this desk, and my chief assistant in the opposite suite has heard every word you have said. I will call him, that you may see for yourself and end your vain struggles.” A cry failed to prove effective, however, and Nick stepped into the hall and threw open the door of the opposite suite. It no longer was occupied. Chick Carter had disappeared. Nick wondered and waited--but waited vainly. Chick did not return. Nor did an hour bring any sign of--the genuine Mr. Pimlico. CHAPTER VIII. TAKING LONG CHANCES. It was a misty, humid, disagreeable night, with the unseasonable January warm spell hanging on, making winter garments almost unbearable, though ordinary discretion precluded removing them. Patsy Garvan found it damp and uncomfortable while watching the Ringold residence from a concealment in the adjoining grounds. He was glad when the early dusk of the afternoon deepened into darkness, enabling him to steal out and move around without incurring detection, thus relieving the monotony of his persistent vigil. It was eight o’clock when his patience was finally rewarded. He had seen the Ringolds at dinner, had watched them through the lace-draped windows of the house, and had seen Nan Levine serving at the table, then clearing it, and supping with another servant in the kitchen. Nothing in her looks or actions, however, denoted that she was in haste, or had any intention of going out that evening. Patsy was agreeably disappointed, therefore, when he saw her leaving the house. She emerged from the side door, with a dark cloak enveloping her slender figure, while her head and face were covered with a veil. She tripped out to the street, where she paused to glance sharply around for a moment, and then she hurried away.