One glance was enough to confirm his misgivings. Two men were standing about four feet behind him, both stocky, dark-featured fellows, and both held a revolver ready for instant use. That they were the two men he had heard mentioned, Dunbar and Haley, Patsy also rightly inferred. “Come down here,” Dunbar repeated, brandishing his weapon. “Be quick about it, too, or I’ll plug you with a bullet.” Patsy saw that he had no sane alternative, that his own promising designs were nipped in the bud, and that the discovery of his identity by Margate was almost inevitable. He met the situation with characteristic coolness, nevertheless, though thoroughly disgusted with the ominous turn of affairs. He sprang down from the window, replying curtly: “Save your bullets. You may need them later.” “Now or later matters little to us,” snapped Dunbar, thrusting his revolver under Patsy’s nose. “Shove up your hands and give an account of yourself. What do you want here?” “You wouldn’t fancy hearing just what I want,” Patsy said dryly. He had no opportunity to say more, for Margate and Busby rushed out of the house at that moment, and Patsy found himself confronted by the four men, and his escape a decidedly remote possibility. “What’s this, Dunbar?” Margate demanded sharply. “Who is the fellow. What was he doing here?” “It’s easy to say what he was doing, Dave,” replied Dunbar, pointing to the window. “It’s not so easy to say who he is.” “He’s an infernal spy, Dave, that’s what he is,” put in Haley. “We’ll very soon find out,” said Margate, glaring at Patsy in the faint glow cast from the curtained window. “Bring him into the house. Keep him covered, mind you, and shoot him if he lowers a finger.” “Let me alone for that,” growled Dunbar. “Get a move on, young fellow, or you’ll hear something drop.” Patsy made no comments, nor offered any resistance. He followed Margate and Busby into the house, their two confederates bringing up in the rear. He heard one of them close and bolt the heavy door, while he passed through a dimly lighted passageway, and he presently found himself confronted by all four in the glare of the chemist’s laboratory. Margate, in his apprehension and excitement, had not delayed to resume his disguise. Viewing Patsy in the bright light, moreover, he instantly penetrated that worn by the detective, partly because of the suspicion he already entertained. “Just as I thought,” he cried quickly. “He is one of Carter’s push, that bright rat known as Patsy Garvan. Get his guns, Haley, and secure his hands behind him. Be sure you make them fast. Push up that window, Busby, and pull the curtain to the top. We’ll mighty soon find out what sent him here and where we stand.”