“A little. I shadowed Hamilton and Thompson to a dive where you and I have been before—Daddy Drew’s.” “Whew!” whistled Nick. “It means a fight with all the crooks in Denver, if we go there.” “Well, that’s where they are, and they’re waiting for Claymore.” “All right. We’ll go there and get them, then, if we decide we’d better arrest them. Is that all?” “Not quite. Knowing they were there to stay, I ran back to Claymore’s office. He had just put out his lights and was leaving the building. “He went to police headquarters.” “Did you go in, too?” “With a disguise, yes. I saw that Claymore had a private talk with Kerr. Then he went out again.” “How did he look?” “Rocky, but he was saying, ‘Very good,’ and ‘Quite right’ to Kerr.” “That means that Kerr told him,” said Nick. “Told him what?” asked Patsy. “What I have done. He shouldn’t have said a word, but I can understand how he should make such a slip, for Claymore was the first to direct suspicion at Hank Low. What became of Claymore?” “He went home. He lives in a boarding house——” “We must have him! Come on!” They left the hotel together hurriedly. * * * * * In a corner of Daddy Drew’s dive—the worst place in Denver—sat the two men who had escaped from Nick Carter in Helena a short time before. They had liquor in front of them, but they drank little. Every time the door opened to admit a newcomer, they looked that way eagerly. The place was pretty well filled. All the scum of the city seemed to drift in there, for it was known that once inside the doors a man need not leave until morning. Daddy let his customers sleep on the floor, if they had nowhere else to go. At last it was closing hour. The doors were locked, and the curtains pulled tightly across the windows. Jack Thompson muttered an oath. “He’s going to bilk us,” he muttered. “Not him,” responded Hamilton. “Wait, I tell you. The night’s young yet. He can’t afford to bilk us, don’t you see?” “No, I don’t. He might skip——” “But he’s not suspected! He’s got every reason to stay, for here is where the money is. He’ll get around before the night is over.” “I hope he brings his wad with him.” “He will.” They were silent for a moment, and then Jack muttered: “I’d have liked it better if he’d paid us for the other job and not asked us to tackle the detective.” “Pooh! what scares you so?” “Nick Carter. Ain’t that enough?” “Nick Carter is dead.” “Do you believe it, Nat?” “I’m going to tell Claymore so.” Jack shuddered. “I see you don’t believe it,” he said; “But I hope Claymore comes along and believes it. Then he’ll pay us, and we can skip before the cuss comes to life.” Nat Hamilton smiled. “He won’t come to life if he’s dead,” he remarked, coolly, “any more than the preacher chap will.” “Ugh!” grunted Jack, and they were silent again. Not less than thirty men were in the place.