The fire escape was available from the windows of the back room, and Nick moved along and looked in. As he suspected, there was no one there. He could not see into the inner room, for the door was not in line with the window. There was, however, a door in line—the door of a closet, and this was ajar. “It is up to me to take a chance,” muttered Nick, and in a second he was in the room making for the closet. Before he reached the place of shelter, however, a figure appeared in the doorway connecting with the inner room. Then a man sprang forward. In an instant Nick had his revolver leveled. “I have been looking for you, Mr. Hughart,” Nick said coolly. “You may as well come with me.” Then a woman’s scream came from the inner room, and Carrie appeared in the doorway. She had gained the room by means of a stairway from the restaurant. The detective confronted the pair with his threatening revolver. “Not a word,” he said. “Come! We want you, Hughart.” “What for?” demanded the miner. “You’ll learn that in time,” was the reply. “And if I refuse to go?” “Then you will be taken by force.” Then Nick scented danger. He saw the eyes of the pair travel past him and fix themselves on the door leading to the hall. It is an old trick to place a person off guard, but this looked real to the detective. The terror in Hughart’s eyes was not simulated. Without lowering his weapon, Nick turned about. He was too late. As he did so, a noose fell over his shoulders. The rope was drawn taut, with the detective’s hands and arms between it and his body. Hughart and the girl sprang for the inner room as the rope fell, but one of the men, gun in hand, barred the way. “Well, Hughart,” he said viciously, “it has come to a show-down at last.” “What do you want?” demanded the miner. “We want you.” Hughart made a sudden spring for the man, avoided the shot, and grappled him. The man who had been guarding Nick sprang forward to help his companion, and in a second the detective was out of the rope and in the fight. Before the second man could draw his gun, Nick landed a heavy blow on the jaw which sent him to the floor like a dead man. Hughart was fighting like a madman, but would have been bested had the detective not hastened to his assistance, settling the outlaw with a terrific blow. Hughart gazed at the detective in amazement. CHAPTER XXVII. BULLY COMES TO GRIEF. “That was quick work,” said Hughart, “but I did not expect to see you helping me.” “I had an idea,” replied the detective, “that I wanted a little of your society myself, and so do the police.” “Who’s talkin’ about the police?” said a voice, and the next moment a burly man appeared in the doorway of the inner room. He was almost a giant, and carried himself with the air of a fighter. The muscles on his arms and neck stood out like cords, and there was an ugly leer on his face. “I am talking about the police,” replied Nick.