“By Jove, this is good news, indeed, Carter,” cried Margate, clapping the detective on the shoulder. “I’ll go in with you and make sure there is no mistake, and I then will rush back and relieve Mr. Clayton and his wife.” “Good enough!” Nick exclaimed, as if utterly void of suspicion. “Lead the way, my man, and permit us to identify this woman. If the lady for whom we are seeking, you shall be well paid for what you have done.” “You, too, shall be well paid for what you have done,” thought Margate grimly, while both hastened into the inclosed grounds. Nick heard Busby close and lock the heavy grille gate, but the sound brought no ominous misgivings to the mind of the detective. He already knew that the net he had spread was fast closing tightly around his victims. Busby, having closed the gate, hurried on ahead. Nick followed him up the steps and into the grim old house, into a dimly lighted, bare-looking hall, Margate bringing up in the rear and quickly closing the door. “This way, gents,” said Busby. “We’ve put the lady in a bedroom on this floor.” He hastened into a rear parlor while speaking, Nick following. As the detective crossed the threshold, he received a violent push from behind, a shove that sent him nearly across the room. Nick turned like a flash and found himself confronted, not by two men, but by four--Margate, Busby, and their two confederates of the previous night, each with a revolver aimed point-blank at his head. CHAPTER IX. THE LAST CALL. Twenty minutes later found Nick Carter seated in the chemist’s laboratory, not only seated there, but tied hand and foot with stout cords and securely bound to his chair. His companions were the four men by whom he had been held up--precisely as he had expected to be. There was only one other occupant of the room--Patsy Garvan. He was lying on the floor in one corner, insensible from a drug administered by Busby the previous night. Margate had removed his disguise and tossed it upon the table. That he had the famous detective helplessly in his power, he had not the shadow of a doubt. It had impelled him to do what he had done the night before, when talking with Patsy Garvan--to vaunt his evil exploits, to boast of what he was about to accomplish, to express his vicious hatred of his hearer, and much that he had said to Patsy, he now had said to Nick. Not one of his confederates had ventured to interfere. Aside from his surprise at beholding Margate, whose identity he really had not suspected, the effect of all that the rascal had been saying was not manifest in the detective’s face. He had appeared as unmoved and severe as a man of bronze while he mutely listened. Not until Busby began to growl with impatience, whereupon Margate seemed about to end the scene, did Nick take steps to prolong it, knowing well what soon must occur.