“Not all of them,” said Nick, mystified for a moment. “Here is the box which must have contained some of them. Unless empty, it----” Danny uttered a shriek, and Nick recoiled involuntarily. A groan from within the box had fallen with startling effect on the ears of all. Then came a fierce kicking against the top of it. “By gracious!” cried Nick, quick to guess the truth. “The rascals have been and gone. But they have entombed either Chick or Patsy.” He sprang into the tomb, shouting quickly and thumping on the long box: “Keep cool! We’ll have you out in half a minute.” It was done in less time, in fact. For Nick found that he could thrust his fingers under one corner of the cover, and, with the strength of a giant, he tore it off in an instant. Patsy Garvan sat up in the box, in the glare of Nick’s searchlight, with his face wearing a look of relief that words could not possibly describe. “By Heaven!” Nick muttered. “Those curs shall pay dearly for this.” “Gee! that was some glad sound, chief, when I heard your voice,” said Patsy, after he had been liberated and the tomb relocked. “The rascals got me--but now we’ll get them.” “Tell me what occurred,” said Nick. Patsy informed him with half a dozen breaths, adding quickly: “They have been gone less than ten minutes. They are returning to Margate’s place. We can reach there by the other road and without being seen long they arrive.” “Come on, then,” said Nick. “That’s the proper move.” Their run to the Margate place was made in twelve minutes. The car, with lights extinguished, was concealed in a near, vacant lot. Returning to the front of the old house to watch for the wagon, the three detectives scarce had concealed themselves under a low wall, when a taxicab put in an appearance and stopped in front of the house. “Some of the gang, Patsy,” Nick murmured. “Follow me and we’ll take them in at once.” He strode out just as the chauffeur sprang down from his seat to aid two women to alight. “Stop a moment, chauffeur,” said Nick, reaching for his revolver. “Who are your passengers and where did you----” The chauffeur burst out laughing. “Thundering guns!” he cried, removing his disguise. “Is it you, Nick?” The chauffeur was Chick Carter, in the coat, hat, and goggles of Mullen, with whom Chick had easily planned the subterfuge before the coming down of the two much-wanted women in suite 710. Five minutes later, Nell Margate and Fannie Coyle were in irons and locked in a closet in the house, pending the arrival of the male members of the gang. When that occurred, some twenty minutes later, and the four crooks alighted from the wagon containing the stolen treasures, four detectives stepped into the driveway and confronted each, with a revolver ready, if needed. It was not needed, however, for the arrest was easily and quickly made. Ten o’clock that evening saw every culprit locked in the Tombs, the first step toward the punishment awaiting them.