He looked at his watch and found that it was five o’clock. There was no sign or sound of activity in the house. He made his way down the stairs and out to the avenue, without seeing anybody. “That butler, Ruggins, was just about all in, I reckon,” he thought. “He didn’t care who was in the house, or what was going on, so long as he was not bothered. Well, I guess I’ll get home, report to the chief, and then turn in myself. I know he won’t let me do anything more till I’ve had some sleep. I hope he won’t call me down too hard for what I’ve done. I’ve found out something, anyhow.” Chick intended to take a Madison Avenue car, as the easiest way to get downtown. So he turned off the avenue to a cross street, to wait for a car at the corner. But he didn’t have to take a car. To his intense satisfaction a taxi came crawling up behind him, at the leisurely pace which suggested that it had no fare inside. This was confirmed by a husky voice singing out, “Taxi?” It was the chauffeur of the taxicab. He pulled the machine over to the curb, as he waved one hand to his possible patron, while the other controlled the steering wheel. “Yes. All right!” responded Chick. The chauffeur was enveloped in a great, hairy coat, and a cap of the same kind of fur was pulled well down over his face. The weather was not cold in the daytime, for it was early fall, but at night one can get pretty chilly driving a cab for hours at a stretch, and no doubt the heavy coat was comfortable between five and six in the morning. “Take me down to Thirty-fourth Street and Madison,” directed Chick. “Then I’ll show you the house I want.” It was one of Nick Carter’s precautions--which he also advised his assistants to observe--not to mention his address to strangers. It was better, he held, to get near the house, and then point it out to anybody to whom it was necessary to show it. “All right,” grunted the chauffeur. “Can you open the door yourself? You don’t want me to get down, do you?” “Of course not. I’m able to get into a cab without help,” replied Chick, with a smile. “It opens a little hard,” said the cabman. The taxi was in front of the vacant lot, with the high board fence around it, to which reference has been made in a former chapter. It was a lonesome spot, especially at that hour in the day. Chick found that the door of the taxicab did indeed open hard. He could not turn the handle at first, and when he did accomplish this, it was with considerable difficulty that he got the door to open. “Sticks like thunder!” he ejaculated, as he tugged at the handle. “What the deuce do you have your door so----” That was all he had a chance to say. When the door did at last yield to his violent pull, four hands seized him by the head and shoulders, and he was dragged inside with a jerk. Then the door slammed shut, and he felt the cab whirling and rocking away, as three men held him firmly on the floor.