As it happened, Jack Cray’s skull was a pretty tough one, and, therefore, the criminal’s first blow, vicious as it was, did not end matters. It badly dazed the ex-police detective, making him totter and throw out his hands instinctively, but the attack was so extraordinary, coming, as he believed, from Nick Carter, that he fought with all his might to retain his senses long enough to see what it meant. “Mr. Carter!” he muttered; then, lurching forward, peered at his assailant. The act took Gordon by surprise. He had been prepared to strike again, but his blow missed its mark and struck Cray on the shoulder. “Curse you!” Green Eye snarled, raising the weapon a third time. “Take that, then!” But Cray seized him in a clumsy, though powerful grasp, and, with blinking eyes, peered into his face at close range. A moment later, Gordon wrenched himself loose, but the emergency seemed to have made Cray’s brain act with more than its customary speed. Despite the poor light, Jack had got a near and clear view of that distorted face and those rage-filled, greenish eyes. Had he been his normal self, he probably would have disbelieved the evidence of his own senses, for he would have recalled the seemingly conclusive reports of Gordon’s death. As it was, however, he recalled nothing of this at the time, and only remembered the peculiarity which had given Ernest Gordon his nickname. “Good heavens! Green-eye Gordon!” he whispered. A second later, the criminal’s third blow fell squarely on his forehead, and he went down, without a groan. Immediately Green Eye bent over him and switched on his flash light. “Curse you, curse you!” he reiterated wildly, striking Cray’s unprotected head again and again, apparently with all his might. He had no definite intention of killing the detective, but he was seeing red just then, and did not care in the least how hard he struck. As a matter of fact, he was inclined to believe that he had murdered his victim, and he actually hoped that he had, for Cray’s recognition of him had enraged him beyond measure. On the other hand, that sort of thing had never been in his line. He had prided himself on his ability to succeed without resorting to such extremes, and for that reason he shrank from any attempt to ascertain definitely whether Jack Cray were living or dead. Besides, he was naturally impatient to be off with the gold, and away from this place where he had momentarily forgotten himself. Accordingly, he rose from his knees, without another glance at the unconscious man, and, pocketing his weapon, returned to the door of the garage. The prisoner could not have seen what took place; but, as the attack had occurred just at the corner of the little building, and within a few feet of the door, it was quite possible that he had heard enough to reconstruct the whole scene, despite the remarkable quietness which had prevailed.