“I think this man Mantelle knows something about the syndicate.” “We have no proof, yet I have been thinking that same thing,” replied Nick, “and that is why I went to the Townsend home, to see if it were possible to get a line on the fellow. I did not succeed very well, but I have another plan in my mind.” “Hunt him up and work the third degree?” asked Chick. “Exactly,” replied the chief. “If I can get up an argument with him, or place him under accusation, I can form an estimate that will guide me.” “There might be a little physical exertion connected with an interview in which he was accused of complicity in the murder,” said Chick, “and that would help some. I am feeling in the need of a thumping.” “That may come soon enough,” replied Nick. “It might be a good idea to watch the room in the tenement,” said Chick. “There may be a reason why the woman should go back there.” “If she does, it will be in the nighttime,” was the reply. “We will talk that over later. At this time we’ll see if we can locate this man Mantelle. No one appears to know much about the fellow.” “He may be at the Cumberland,” said Chick. Mantelle was not at his hotel when the detectives called there, and so they went to the Bowery café, whence Townsend had gone to his death. “Now,” said Nick, as they approached the place, “if we find him and there are others present, you observe them while I am sizing up Mantelle. And I may accuse him of all sort of things, so be on your guard.” The clerk informed Nick that Mantelle was at breakfast with a friend in a rear room. “Are you certain he has company?” asked Nick. “You see, he had an appointment with me at this hour—an important appointment. It is possible that the other fellow is the man we both expected to meet here. What sort of a looking chap is he?” “It is a woman,” said the man at the desk, “and he asked particularly that they should not be disturbed.” “Oh, he’ll see me,” said Nick, with a swagger affected by precinct detectives. “You’ll have to get in there the best way you can, then,” said the clerk. “I am not going to have you shown in.” “Oh, that’s all right,” said Nick. The clerk gave the detectives the number of the room, and they opened the door and entered without even the formality of knocking. Mantelle sprang to his feet, rage showing in his eyes. His companion, who hastily dropped a veil over her face as the door was opened, shrank back into her chair and turned her head away. She was slender of figure, and seemed to be rather good-looking. Owing to the thick veil, Nick could not distinguish the full outlines of her face, but what he could see of it gave him the impression that the woman was young, and fair of complexion. There was something about the droop of the shoulders, the graceful lines of the waist, which seemed familiar to the detective, yet he could not at that time place the woman.