Again Nick listened for the expected footfalls, but in vain. There was nothing for it but to go in alone and trust to luck. He had summoned Chick and Patsy from his home when he had called the coroner, instructing them to hasten to the hotel and trail him, wherever he went. Something had possibly happened to disarrange the plan. CHAPTER XIV. THE GREAT DIAMOND SYNDICATE. “Are you coming in?” asked the alleged reporter. “The girl I told you of is in the rear room on the second floor.” Nick made a quick decision. “Go ahead,” he said. He knew that he was entering a trap, and that his life would be in danger, but he had no thought of turning back. The young man rang the bell, and in a moment the door was opened, showing the interior of a plainly furnished hallway from which a flight of stairs led to a floor above. The place was illuminated only by the red hanging lamp which showed through the transom over the street door; and the general appearance was mysterious. Somehow the atmosphere of the room carried out the impression given by the light. The first impulse on entering was to flee from some unseen peril. There was a strong odor of musk about the place, and this seemed to the vivid imagination to conceal the presence of something uncanny. As the two entered the hallway they were met by a stalwart servant in the regulation dress coat and white vest. There was something sinister in the fellow’s face as he barred the way to the staircase. He spoke in French. “Why are you here?” “This is an officer,” replied the young man. “We have come to see the body of the girl who was killed here not long ago.” The servant pointed up the staircase, saying: “We have nothing to conceal from the police. First door to the left.” The two started on up the stairs, the young fellow in the lead. Nick was watchful and ready with a revolver, which was hidden within easy reach under his coat. He understood the peril of the situation, but trusted to his usual good luck to get him out of any complications that might arise. He was now satisfied that the secret of Townsend’s death lay in that house, and he was determined to uncover it. But the detective had no opportunity to use his weapon. The forces with which he was contending were keener than he supposed. Halfway up the staircase a spray of chloroform struck him in the face, blinding him and sending him to the floor in an unconscious condition. This was a form of attack upon which he had not figured.