“Let me get up!” shouted Nick. “The thief has got away.” “Oh, I guess not!” came from one of the men holding him down. “I saw the whole thing. This man asked for a light, and when he had it, he tried to go through the other man’s pockets for his roll. Where are the police? This is the worst holdup I ever saw.” “You idiot!” exploded Nick. He was enraged at seeing Rayne get away when so nearly caught. So exerting all his enormous strength, he threw the four men off, and, picking up a chair, swung it around his head to hold them back. By this time there was a full-sized riot on the porch and in the café. But the detective’s blood was up, and he cared nothing for that. It was seldom he allowed his anger to make him lose sight of the main purpose in view. But he was so disgusted with the interference of these men, at such a critical moment, that he was determined to make them pay. He dropped the chair and shot out his two fists, sending the talkative individual, who had called for the police, one way, and another busy person another. He was setting himself for an onslaught on three others who were coming toward him, when suddenly two men he had not seen before ranged themselves on his side. They disposed of four of the foes with well-directed blows. Before Nick could look around to see who his unexpected reënforcements were, Patsy Garvan whispered in his ear: “Break away, chief! The fellow you knocked down is hustling along the avenue. Let’s get after him.” A hand was laid on each of his arms, and, as he was drawn away into the shadows, where the people on the porch could not see him, he found Chick on one side of him and Patsy on the other. “Do you know who he was?” asked Nick. “I didn’t see,” replied Patsy. “I only made out that he was dark, and that he had on light clothes. I’ll know him again, though. Come on!” “Who was he, chief?” asked Chick. “John Garrison Rayne,” replied Nick Carter shortly. “Wha-at?” His two assistants delivered themselves of this interrogative monosyllable together, and with enough astonishment to make it seem ten times as strong a word as it was. “Get after him!” replied Nick, as he hustled along the dark thoroughfare. “He can’t have got far.” But if Rayne had not got far, at least he had managed to elude his pursuers on this occasion. He laughed silently, as, standing in the shadow of a tree, he saw Nick Carter and his two men go past. He watched them till they were out of sight. “That settles it,” he muttered. “I’ve got to get this coat of chocolate off my face and hands, and tackle something else. It will be a bold thing, but I guess I can put it over. It seems to be about my only chance, for that cursed Carter has every part of the wharf and all the roads guarded. He thinks I don’t know, perhaps--but I do.” He walked slowly on until he stood in front of the handsome “palace,” which was at one time the residence of the Spanish captain general, but is now the home of the governor.