“But better told first hand,” Nick cut in curtly, with his gaze intently fixed on the man he addressed. “I’ll give you the information you want. I’ll tell you what I’m after and what I’ve been doing.” “Ah!” Dayton spoke with an icy drawl. “Better first hand, indeed, as you say. I do not yet place you, however, nor----” “Oh, a truce to subterfuge,” Nick again interrupted curtly. “Subterfuge?” “You know me perfectly well--but not better than I know you.” “Indeed?” “You place me, all right, as I sooner or later will again place you where you belong.” Nick went on sternly, disregarding the other’s queries. “A wig, a beard, a reverse curve of the eyebrows, a more florid skin, an altered voice--it takes more than those to blind me, though you might get by others. Fly your true colors, Mr. Mortimer Deland, and I’ll tell you what I am after and what I’ve been doing.” “Ah! That is a great inducement, so great that I find myself utterly unable to resist it.” Deland replied with unruffled composure. He drew up a little in his chair, gazed steadily at the detective for a moment, then raised his slender white hands to his head, deftly removing the exceedingly artistic disguise which Nick alone had been able to penetrate, and which had fairly transfigured the mobile, sinister, clean-cut, yet strangely effeminate features of--Mortimer Deland. Jim Henley and the two frowning crooks near by evinced no surprise nor made any comments. That Deland was the master, and they merely hirelings, was perfectly apparent to the detective. It appeared obvious, too, that Chick Carter must have arrived too late to have picked up the supposed Dayton before he left his office--a mischance that would seem to have badly aggravated the present desperate situation of the detective. Deland appeared to think so, too, for he smiled with vicious complacency while he tossed his disguise upon the table, saying with the same frigid voice and insolent assurance which was so characteristic of him that they had at once betrayed him to the detective: “Now, having met you halfway, Carter, and complied with the stipulation you imposed, it is up to you to perform your part of the brief verbal contract. Sit down, if you prefer; there are plenty of chairs. I regret that I cannot release you, but that would be injudicious for obvious reasons. Tell me, now, as you promised, what are you after and what have you been doing, that my good friend Henley has rounded you up in this fashion?” CHAPTER IX. THE ACME OF KNAVERY. Nick Carter ignored Mortimer Deland’s mocking suavity, the miscreant’s manifest air of superiority and contempt. He sat down directly opposite the notorious crook, replying sternly: “That may be quickly told, Deland, and I’m right here to tell it.” “I am listening.”