Nick reached the spot in one bound, and, after glancing at the makeshift which Green Eye had employed to hide his handiwork, he pulled the great door open, and, bending, pressed the spring that operated the inner one. The latter in turn clicked open, was seized, and drawn back. A momentary glance revealed several empty pigeonholes, and a confused mass of papers in others. “Merciful Heaven!” exclaimed Nick, clenching his fists and raising them aloft, while his face became as white as a sheet. “The fiend has taken what he wanted here! I wouldn’t have had this happen for anything in the world. It means—Heaven knows what it doesn’t mean!” His assistant realized only too well what the catastrophe foreshadowed, but, for the time being, he was stricken dumb. He could only look from Nick’s shocked face to the gaping safe. But, of course, Griswold did not fully comprehend, and managed to put his foot in it again. “It’s too bad that you have lost any valuable papers,” he said. “I have lost eighty thousand dollars, though, and the sooner you get on the trail of the fellow, the better.” Nick turned on him with a look of scorn. “What do I care about your infernal eighty thousand dollars!” he demanded fiercely, his patience exhausted at last. “It doesn’t amount to a row of pins—or oughtn’t to, at any rate. The papers in this safe, though—the most valuable of which have doubtless been stolen—involve the honor and peace of mind of scores of men and women who are prominent in all walks of life. Don’t you understand, man? They are my private and most confidential records, covering the most important cases of years—records which would mean hundreds of thousands of dollars to the blackmailer. And that isn’t all, for if used in that way, as this fellow doubtless intends to use them, and will, if he isn’t prevented at once, they will bring anguish to a great many people. Finally, the fact that they have fallen into unscrupulous hands will work me more harm than anything else could possibly do.” His anger against Griswold had cooled while he was speaking, however. “But, fortunately,” he went on in a calmer tone. “We have every reason to believe that your gold is in the same hands as my papers; therefore, the trail isn’t likely to fork.” “That’s it,” Griswold agreed eagerly. “I beg your pardon again, Carter. I didn’t realize what this loss meant to you and others. It gives you a supreme incentive, however, to go after the fellow.” Before he could add more, the desk phone rang, and Chick answered it. “Yes, this is Mr. Carter’s house,” the young detective said. “You are speaking from Mr. Griswold’s office? Yes, Mr. Griswold is here. Do you wish to speak to him?... All right, I understand. I’ll tell him at once. Good-by.” The receiver clicked back into its place, and Chick turned to the expectant listeners. “They say that the doctor has phoned from Simpson’s house, at New Pelham, Mr. Griswold,” he said. “Cray is conscious at last.”