“By Jove, I’ve got a sure line on the gang, at least,” thought Patsy, after these investigations. “Under the mask of death, so to put it, they have succeeded in turning this knavish trick. But where is the plunder? That’s the question. I’d better sneak out and telephone to the chief, I guess, and then return and watch this place. I can direct him to it and----” Patsy’s train of thought ended abruptly. So suddenly as to preclude any extensive move, the heavy tread of men’s feet sounded on the wooden run in front of the stable, and a key was thrust into the padlock of the door. Patsy knew that a successful retreat through the trapdoor was utterly impossible. He sought the nearest place of concealment--a corner back of a grain chest that stood under the overhang of a rear haymow. He no sooner had dropped out of sight, than the broad, sliding door was opened wide enough to admit three men. Looking cautiously over the grain chest, Patsy immediately recognized two of them. “Jim Margate and a well-known running mate of his, Bob Pitman, a pair of desperate blacklegs.” The third man was Mortimer Deland. He was laughing in a cold, mirthless way, while he followed the two more roughly clad men into the stable, saying at the same time: “Oh, I easily gave him the slip by sneaking down the servants’ stairway. Fannie and Nell will make a quick get-away later. Leave that to Fan. They’ll show up here during the evening. Fan will slip out from under his guns, all right.” “Do you think he knew you?” Margate asked, while all three seated themselves on some empty boxes near the partly open door. “Know me! Sure he knew me,” said Deland, still laughing icily. “I suspected what was coming when he sent up his card. The phony name did not blind me, not much!” “By Jove, either Nick or Chick has seen and interviewed this rascal,” thought Patsy, easily hearing all that was said. “This must be Deland himself, who has been posing as Gerald Vaughn.” “I sent Nell into the next room, which connects with Fan’s suite, and then told the bell hop to send him up.” “Was he in disguise?” “No, nothing doing,” grinned Deland, with teeth gleaming. “He wasn’t dead sure of us, you know, and he hoped we’d weaken when we saw him. He don’t know us, Jim.” “You don’t suppose he knew me when we lugged out the stuff this morning, do you?” questioned Margate apprehensively. “Or me, Mort?” put in Pitman. “The undertaker and his assistant,” thought Patsy. “That was nearly a cinch before.” “Knew you!” exclaimed Deland derisively. “That’s rot! How could he have known either of you through the disguise I loaned you? No, no, you’re away, all right.” “That listens good to me,” said Pitman. “But these Carters are infernally sharp dicks. They’ve got eyes like needles.”