“But secure this door after you.” “Sure! D’ye think I’m daffy enough to leave it open?” With the last remark, Conley came out of the basement and closed the heavy door, leaving the entire place only dimly lighted by the oil-lamp on the wall. Seen from outside, the whole stable appeared shrouded in darkness. As the three started across the lawn toward the house, with Patsy in the grip of both men, the huge bloodhound came bounding over the grass as if to accompany them—or to make a finish of Patsy. Badger quickly checked him, however, sternly commanding: “Be off, Pluto! Away with you, and watch out, you brute! Watch out, I say!” The dog appeared to understand. He dropped his black nose to the ground, vented one short, sharp yelp, then coursed away with the speed of a deer, hither and thither, and finally toward the belt of woods darkly outlined against the starry sky at the rear of the broad estate. “He’ll notify us, Jerry!” growled Badger, with his grip unconsciously tightening on the detective’s collar. “Let Pluto alone for that. He’ll notify us all right, and promptly, too, if there are other strangers prowling near here to-night.” That Patsy was possessed of that true detective genius which instinctively anticipates coming events, appears in the thought that quickly arose in his mind: “He will, eh? I can see his finish if he encounters Chick Carter this night!” CHAPTER XVIII. A LAST RESORT. “Search him!” sternly commanded Badger. “We’ll see what that will bring forth. Search him, Conley, and see what you can find!” The scene was the kitchen of the Badger dwelling. Fifteen minutes had passed since Patsy was rounded up and brought in there, and the quarter-hour had been devoted to plying him with questions to break down the crafty story he had told, and to which he clung with a tenacity born of conscious desperation. He now stood with his back to one of the kitchen walls, in the full glare of the lamplight. His arms were still secured behind him, and his collar and cravat were awry from the throttling he had received. His face was composed, however, not even pale, and his eyes were keen and bright with that inherent courage and invincible determination which rendered him superior to any threatening situation, and eminently worthy to have become Nick Carter’s trusted associate and assistant. The gang by which he had been so curiously cornered were seated about the room. Both Badger and Conley appeared stern and ugly, evincing that state of mind when dread and suspicion battle with uncertainty. The two women, Mrs. Badger and Vic Clayton, appeared pale and anxious, as if fearful that their adventurous career was likely to be seriously interrupted. Yet all four, including also a dark, middle-aged woman who worked in the house, were regarding Patsy with eyes and aspects so threatening as to have awed one less cool, collected, and defiant of personal peril.