When he regained consciousness he was lying, securely bound as to hands and feet, on a leather couch in a room which looked like an ordinary business office. There were two windows, evidently facing a street, for the shades were drawn over the panes and inside blinds still further shut out the view. There were three doors to the room, one from the hall, through which he concluded he had been carried, a second connecting with what must be a small front room over the lower hall, and one connecting with a rear apartment. In the matter of furniture, the room was supplied with two curtain-top desks, two swivel chairs, and the leather couch upon which the detective found himself. A gas log blazed in a grate opposite the hall door. At first Nick’s head buzzed badly, but he soon recovered. Then his eyes fell on the figure of a man sitting at a desk in the front of the room. The fellow was lean and muscular, with a large head, remarkably flat on top, and keen black eyes. As Nick looked him over, he swung around in his chair. “You are coming to, eh?” he said. “That dose would have finished an ordinary man. How are you feeling?” “Never better,” replied Nick. “You seem to be quite comfortable here.” “Yes, we are fairly well fixed here, though our London office is more luxurious.” Nick had no idea where he was. The man he was talking with looked and acted like a business man absorbed in his work. There was nothing suspicious or terrifying about the apartment. In fact, the leather thongs which bound him were the only evidences that he was not in an ordinary place of business. “This is a new one on me,” said the detective presently. “What became of the young fellow who brought me here?” “He has gone out to see about another matter,” was the reply. “Remarkable man, that. You believed him to be a reporter?” “I certainly did not,” replied Nick. “I understood that I was walking into a trap, but thought I could trust to luck.” “And you are still trusting to luck?” “Certainly. I shall get out in some way.” “You have no idea where you are?” “On Houston Street, I presume,” replied Nick, wondering if the men he had ordered on duty had located the house he entered. “Streets do not matter,” said the other. “It is the place that counts. This looks all regular, doesn’t it?” The fellow glanced about the room with evident pride. “It looks all right,” said Nick. “What is the game?” “It is the office of the Great Diamond Syndicate,” was the reply, “or a branch office, rather, for the main establishment is in London.” “You have the Maynard diamonds here, I presume?” asked Nick. “They are not far away,” was the reply. “The syndicate steals diamonds, eh?” asked Nick. “Acquires diamonds,” corrected the other. “And plans a cowardly murder now and then?” continued Nick.