“In a house in Manhattanville,” said Nick. “Don’t you know? Didn’t Moll Damon give you a hint?” Sadie scowled impatiently, banging her palms on the top of the table. “See here, Mr. Goulard, I’m not dealing in hints,” she cried, with some asperity. “If you’ve got anything of importance to say to me, hand it out straight from the shoulder. I’m no riddle guesser. What do you mean?” Nick saw plainly that the woman was suspicious and inclined to evade him. He was equally sure, on the other hand, that fear alone had impelled her to yield to Moll Damon, which convinced him that she not only knew all about the murders of the previous night, but also was more or less involved in them. Nick now took her at her word, therefore, and replied, a bit curtly: “I mean the fight in the house mentioned, a fight in which one of your friends was killed.” “One of my friends? I guess not!” declared Sadie, still with affected ignorance. “You’ve got another guess, Miss Badger,” Nick said, more forcibly. “You may as well guess right, too, and hand me straight goods. I’ve not come here to be bluffed, and a bluff won’t get you anything. You know what I mean and the man I mean. Batty Lang is his name.” “Batty Lang killed, eh?” “You know he was killed,” insisted Nick, with an affected display of impatience. “I know, too, that he was a friend of yours and of your brother, Ben Badger; also that he was one of the gang of which you two are the big fingers.” “Is that so?” questioned Sadie tentatively, frowning more darkly. “Yes, that’s so,” Nick went on, with increasing vehemence. “And that’s not all. I know that Lang and some of your gang got wise to a job I was going to pull off in that house, and that some of you got in there to queer it and get the best of me.” “We did, eh?” “Yes. You did it all right, too, as far as that goes, but you’re not going to get fat from it,” Nick forcibly informed her. “I’ve got that finely fixed, you can bet on it, or I wouldn’t be here. It’s safety first for mine, always.” As may be inferred from all this, Nick was banking on the correctness of his suspicions and deductions, aiming to so impress Sadie Badger that she would enter into a discussion with him and ultimately expose all she knew about the crimes. Only a detective of Nick Carter’s confidence, one having absolute faith in his own discernment and deductions, would have ventured such a subterfuge as this. It seemed likely, nevertheless, to prove as profitable as he had anticipated. For Sadie Badger now straightened up in her chair and replied, smiling a bit scornfully: “You seem to be a wise gazabo, Mr. Goulard.” “I know what I’m talking about, all right,” Nick informed her. “You sure are some wise gink,” nodded Sadie sarcastically. “If you know all this and have got things as finely fixed as you say, why have you come here to spiel with me about it? You really think that our gang put up a job on you, do you?” “I don’t think,” snapped Nick; “I know you did.”