Patsy then saw them troop back to the lime shed--Badger, Goulard, Dakin, Freeland, and Glidden, hurrying like evil shadows through the narrow passageway. Patsy saw, too, that they were dragging the low truck--with a long object on it, covered with burlap. He watched it--but did not see it move. Within a minute all had disappeared into the lime dealer’s building. “Holy smoke!” thought Patsy, lingering only briefly. “Was that a corpse? If so--whose corpse? By Jove, I’ve got to make a bid to find out.” Hurrying downstairs, Patsy found that the woman had just finished washing her windows. He thanked her again for her kindness, cautioned her to say nothing about his visit, and then he hurried from the house. As he emerged from under the front steps, where the basement-hall door was located, he walked almost into the arms of--Chick Carter. “Great Scott! here’s a stroke of luck,” Patsy said impulsively. “What sent you here?” Chick was nearly as much surprised as Patsy, seeing him come from the second house. “I shadowed Slugger Sloan up here,” he replied. “He left Moll Damon and came up here alone.” “Do you know for what, Chick?” Patsy asked eagerly. “Not yet. He took a long look at this house and then went down and sized up that building with a lime sign on it.” “Gee! we must be in right. Where is he, now?” “In a barroom around the corner. What did you learn in that house? You seem to have something on your mind.” Patsy hurriedly told his story, and Chick’s countenance took on a more serious expression. “By Jove, it may be that Nick was in that house,” said he. “He may have got wise to something that sent him there.” “That’s just what I think,” Patsy declared. “I can see no other way of looking at it.” “There is only one course for us to shape, I reckon,” said Chick, after a moment’s thought. “What’s that?” “We’ll begin with arresting Slugger Sloan. He may throw up a squeal that will clinch our suspicions.” “My idea exactly,” Patsy agreed. “Come on. We’ll lose no time in discussing it. We’ll nail him at once.” They hastened around the corner mentioned, then sauntered into the barroom, as if with no more aggressive intent than to buy a couple of drinks. Slugger Sloan was leaning against the bar with a glass of whisky in front of him. Chick and Patsy pretended to be about to pass him, then the former turned quickly and seized the crook’s arms, confining them to either side. Patsy whipped out his revolver at the same moment and thrust it under the gunman’s nose. “Don’t get gay, Slugger,” he advised coolly. “We want you!” Sloan scowled defiantly at both, but made no resistance. “What’s it all about?” he asked, with affected indifference, while Chick handcuffed him and removed a revolver from his pocket. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, confronting him. “Nothing special. Do I have to have a ticket to come here?”