"You are a good boy, Patsy," said Nick, with a look of approbation, "and I'll see that Mrs. Jilson gets the money she is expecting." The days came and went. Chick appeared, remained a day, and went off again. Patsy made several trips out of the city. Nick remained, like a spider watching its web. On the afternoon of the day preceding the probate day, upon which so much depended, the detective and Patsy were sitting in the E Street room, talking over matters pertaining to the morrow's program. The windows of the room overlooked the street. The detective, while talking to Patsy, was seated near one of the windows, and he had occasionally looked out. As Patsy was preparing to go out, Nick's eye, turning toward the street, fell upon the form of Peter Mannion, who, cane in hand and with soldierly dignity, was walking along the opposite sidewalk. He glanced up once, saw Nick's face, and then quickly turned his head. The appearance of the man in that quarter, while it might not mean anything, yet gave rise in Nick's mind to a suspicion that the uncle was out for a purpose. Although Peter Mannion might think that the scheme upon which he was working was perfect in all its details, yet the presence in Washington of the noted detective, Nick Carter, on the day preceding the calling of the probate cases would have a disquieting effect upon his nerves. Nick said a few quick words to Patsy, who at once put on his hat, left the room, and went down the stairs. The boy did not follow Peter Mannion, but went unconcernedly up the street toward the railway depot. He walked slowly, and Nick, without showing his face to passers-by in the street, saw that the uncle had taken note of Patsy, had turned about and was now following him. The detective's face showed satisfaction. What the next act on the program would be he could not guess, but that there was an act scheduled for near performance he would have staked his existence. The day passed without incident. Toward dark Nick went out and had dinner in a Pennsylvania Avenue restaurant. After his refreshment he walked about, enjoying his cigar and the calm, soft night. He was standing on the marble walk of the little triangular square at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Seventh Street, listening to a colored quartet, the singing adjunct of an outdoor gospel meeting, when Peter Mannion passed him. Nick did not turn his head, and he was satisfied that the uncle was going on under the impression that he had not been observed. Where was he going? Nick became a shadower, and when he saw the uncle disappear through the double doors of the Metropolitan Hotel, a look of disappointment crept into his face. All at once an idea, containing a queer suggestion, came to him. Egress from the rear of the hotel would take a person either on to John Marshall Avenue or C Street, and by either route there was a short and easy walk to the detective's quarters on E Street.