“Great guns! that’s Ben Badger himself, the king-pin of his knavish gang,” he said to himself, instantly recognizing the notorious gangster. “He’s bound to meet Goulard in the alley. I wonder if that’s been fixed.” That it had not been fixed was speedily apparent. The two men nearly collided a moment later, plainly seen by Patsy, and the manner and looks with which both recoiled convinced him that the meeting was purely accidental. Their surprise and consternation was of brief duration, however, for they quickly began to converse in low tones, though Patsy could only conjecture what they were discussing. They talked in the alley for about five minutes, and Badger then led the way to the porch, where Patsy no longer could see them. As a matter of fact, however, quietly entering the basement door of the house, Badger caught the sound of Nick Carter’s voice, in discussion with Sadie, and the nature of the detective’s remarks, coupled with the arrival of Goulard and what he had just stated, speedily exposed Nick’s subterfuge and designs. Patsy, waiting and watching, then saw Badger emerge from the porch and run at top speed through the passageway, and then disappear into the lime shed. Half a minute later he returned posthaste, and followed by two men, whom he evidently had gone to get--Knocker Freeland and Jack Glidden. All vanished hurriedly into the house. “Gee! there’s something doing, all right,” thought Patsy, not for a moment supposing that Nick was in the house. “Badger got the gang together for some reason. It now is a hundred to one that all of them were in the Manhattanville house last night, and that some sort of a deal is to be made with Goulard. I’ll wait here a while longer, at all events, and see what follows.” Patsy waited, constantly watching, but he did not hear the report of Nick’s revolver, nor any sounds of the brief struggle that ensued. He saw nothing more, in fact, until Glidden issued from the porch about twenty minutes later and rushed away to the lime shed. “There goes one of them again,” Patsy muttered. “There must be something doing over in that building, also, if the haste of that rat counts for anything. I’ll wait and see whether he returns.” Patsy had not long to wait. Glidden reappeared in about a minute, in company with a slender man in a blouse and overalls, both pushing a low truck. “Gee! that’s Jimmy Dakin, known as Quicklime Jimmy,” thought Patsy, who knew most of the gangsters by sight. “He must be the rascal who runs that lime business. But what in thunder are they going to do with that truck? Have they killed Goulard? Are they going to truck him to the shed and then dump him into the river?” Patsy remained to find out, if possible. He saw them bring the truck to the porch door, after which he could see neither them nor the truck, the porch cutting off his view. Five minutes passed.