“Nor would they trust their load to any railway company, nor to transportation by others.” “Surely not.” “How, then, would they dispose of it? Where would they naturally take it?” “That’s the question, Nick.” “Gee! it’s some question, too.” “They might, of course, drive to some point out of the city, where they could transfer it undetected to an ordinary wagon, in which it could be quickly taken to some place of concealment. Or it might be hidden in some woodland section and afterward removed.” “There really seems to be no other safe way of disposing of it,” said Chick. “Don’t be too sure of that,” Nick advised. “Deland is crafty and ingenious. He may have hit upon an entirely different method, one so novel and original that it does not occur to us.” “Possibly.” “Be that as it may, Chick, we will take up the trail as we find it,” Nick said abruptly. “I will return to Strickland’s apartments and give him a few instructions, then I’ll be off for a talk with the agent in charge of this house. He may impart something worth knowing.” “It’s worth trying, at least.” “You get next to a telephone and a directory, in the meantime, and call up all of the local undertakers. Find out whether one of them has an extra wagon and has rented it, or----” “I understand,” Chick cut in with a nod. “Learn what you can from him, in that case, and be governed accordingly.” “Trust me for that.” “While we are thus engaged, Patsy, you get after the cabmen and the local express drivers. Find out, if possible, who took away----” “The crooks’ trunks,” put in Patsy. “I’ve got you, chief, hands down. You don’t need to tell me what to do in a case of this kind.” “Very good,” said Nick. “Telephone to the house any discovery you may make, providing circumstances prevent you from returning. Otherwise, we’ll meet there, as usual. That’s all--except to dig in, tooth and nail, to trace these rascals.” It then was nine o’clock. Precisely two hours had passed since the departure of Mortimer Deland and Fannie Coyle--and the undertaker’s wagon filled with the stolen treasures. CHAPTER VI. A MAN OF NERVE. While Nick Carter returned to the Strickland flat to impart such information and instructions as would serve his purpose, Chick Carter parted from Patsy on the corner of Fifth Avenue, then hastened home to use the telephone and directory. Instead of calling up the local undertakers, however, Chick decided that he first would ascertain from police headquarters whether the theft of such extraordinary articles as a casket and an undertaker’s team had been reported to the police. He had no great hope of hitting the trail so quickly--but he was agreeably disappointed. “Yes, Chick, sure!” was the reply by a sergeant who responded, and to whom the detective had mentioned his name. “Both were stolen three days ago from Michael Hanlon, a Harlem undertaker.” “I have seen nothing published about it,” said Chick.