Ardley, with his sonorous voice rolling forth more heartily, as deep and full as the bellow of a bull, pointed to a cheap wooden chair, near which the detective was standing. Nick accepted the invitation unsuspiciously. Ardley seated himself on an empty box directly in front of his visitor, scarce five feet from him. With his shoulders hunched forward, his huge head drawn down, his muscle-bound arms resting on his massive thighs, he appeared more like a great, uncouth monster than of the order of man. “What’s it all about?” he repeated, gazing with ratty eyes at the detective’s bearded face. “What’s it all about, this ’ere important business?” “It’s about a girl who was stolen from home last night by a bunch of thugs,” said Nick, steadily eying him. “I have reason to believe they came in this direction.” “Suppose they did?” questioned Ardley. “What’s that to me? Why d’ye question me?” “I hoped you might have seen them.” “Waal, you’ve got another hope. “Or know something about them,” Nick added. “What I know about them, Mr. Hudson, or about anything else bar the making of rubber pipes, could be written on your thumb nail,” Ardley growled, still gazing at his hearer. “I dunno anything about any thugs, much less a stolen gal.” “Don’t you know a man named Pierre Toulon?” Nick asked, with sharper scrutiny. “Never heard of him.” “Or David Margate?” “Same of him. I never heard the name.” Nick drew up a little in his chair, working one of his revolvers into a position in his hip pocket, enabling him to instantly draw it, if necessary. “I noticed when coming here, Mr. Ardley, that you have a telephone in your house,” said he. “Aye, I have,” Ardley admitted, with a nod of his huge head. “What o’ that?” “Well, I happen to know,” Nick bluntly asserted, “that Pierre Toulon telephoned to you from New York City at one o’clock last night.” Ardley’s red eyes took on a narrow squint. He reached out and rested his brawny hand on a long wooden lever, which appeared to govern the wheel over which ran the belt on which Nick had found him at work. At the same time he asked, more sullenly: “How’d you find that out?” “I have methods of my own for obtaining information,” said Nick. “You’re a detective, eh?” “Yes.” “I reckoned so.” “My statement is true, isn’t it?” Nick demanded, more sternly. “Suppose it is?” growled Ardley. “What then?” “I want the truth from you, then, both about Pierre Toulon and the stolen girl. I intend to have it, too.” “Suppose you don’t get it?” “I will arrest you at once, Ardley, and take you with me,” Nick forcibly informed him. Ardley laughed derisively. “I guess not,” he cried. “You have got another guess, Ardley, unless you----” “So have you!” Ardley had not stirred from his indifferent position until that moment, the position of a man who appeared to have no aggressive design, but who was content to rely confidently upon his prodigious strength.