There was a short pause, while Nick Carter considered his next move. Then he said quietly: “If there is a ladder, or plank, push it up to the top of the fence. I want to see whether it could have been used as a bridge to get to this balcony from the yard. Do you begin to see what I’m driving at?” “I’d be a bonehead if I didn’t,” replied Chick, as he went to work. For perhaps a minute there was silence. Then a gruff voice broke out, demanding to know who was there. This was followed by a sound of fighting, with Chick’s voice mingling with the gruff tones heard before. “You’re a burglar. That’s what you are!” roared the gruff person. “I’ll have you pinched as soon as I can get you to the front door! Come on! You can’t get away! Lend me a hand here, Bill!” “I’m here,” responded a voice that was strangely squeaky, and might have been that of a Chinaman, except that it had not the Mongolian accent. “And the others will help.” “The durned, sneaking thief! Out with him!” There was a little more noise. Then a door banged, and--silence! Nick Carter hurriedly went through the window to the study, and, without taking the time to close it, rushed to the door, down the stairs, past the mystified Ruggins, and out to the street. There he met Chick, very much ruffled, and with his battered hat in his hand, coming along from the next house, and occasionally looking over his shoulder, as if he expected to see somebody come out. “Well, chief, they bounced me!” he said, in a rueful tone. “Chucked me out on my head.” “Who?” asked Nick Carter. “I don’t know. I didn’t see anybody. I only felt that there were at least three men, and they were all huskies, too. We were in the dark. They shoved me clean through the house and out of the front door before I had any chance to fight back. It was the quickest bounce I ever had--or ever gave any one else. What shall we do? Break down the door and go in?” “No. We’ll leave them for the present. The caretaker had a right to throw you out if he thought you were a burglar, and, naturally, if he had any friends with him, they would help. We can’t break in, unless we want to bring the police. I am glad he didn’t call the police, as it was.” “Do you think he would dare do that?” asked Chick significantly. “No,” was Nick Carter’s slow reply. “I don’t think he wants the police to get into that house. That is where, I think, we have them.” “You mean----” “I mean that I am convinced the murderer of Andrew Anderton came in from that house. But we can’t do anything more now. We’d better go in and close that study. Then we’ll go to bed. Do you feel like walking?” “Yes.” “Very well. We’ll walk home.” CHAPTER VI. PATSY’S STILL-HUNT.