In a dark room, in the rear of the fourth story of a Pine Street building, into which Nick was ushered, sat the broker friend of Elmer Greer. “You have succeeded, Sam, I see,” said Tom Smith to Mr. Furman. Turning to the detective, Smith put out his hand, saying: “I guess we can come to terms. I felt very sorry for that affair at the hotel the other night.” “I have no doubt you did, sir,” remarked Nick. “Sam has explained my proposition, I trust,” said the smiling broker. “Oh, yes. I understand the matter thoroughly,” replied the detective. “I am to receive twenty thousand to-day.” “Just so, and at the end of a month, eighty thousand more.” “It is a heap of money,” said Nick, evidently carried away by the magnitude of the sum. “Oh, I can afford it; and--let me whisper--perhaps you may get more than you bargain for,” remarked the broker. “The disappearance of this old fossil, Field, has been a great thing for me, and you may be sure I am feathering my nest.” “I’m glad to hear it,” said the detective. Smith went to a large safe and took from it a package of bills. They were all of large denominations, and the twenty thousand dollars he handed his visitor did not make a very thick bundle. Nick Carter shoved the money into an inside pocket and buttoned his coat. “Mr. Smith,” he said, “you must give me your note for the balance, and state on its face what service the money is paid for.” The broker hemmed and hawed; this proposition was not at all to his liking. “If you do not,” continued Nick, “our bargain is off.” There was no resisting this threat, and Smith hastened to satisfy the officer’s demand. Nick placed the note with the bills and rebuttoned his coat. “Of course,” said Smith, “you will forget about that business at the hotel. I mean, you won’t ‘pinch’ Greer and the girl?” The detective smiled in spite of his efforts to refrain from doing so. “I suppose you have business to attend to?” said the broker, extending his hand. He had accomplished what he wished and was anxious to bring the interview to an end. “Y-e-s,” drawled Nick. “I have some business to attend to.” “Then don’t let me detain you,” said Tom Smith. The pair of handcuffs that the detective drew from his pocket were neat ones, and the pistol that he brought to light with them was gold-mounted, but their beauty did not strike the broker. “What do you mean?” he cried, aghast, as he retreated to the furthest end of the room. “That you will accompany me to police headquarters,” said Nick Carter. “You won’t be lonesome; our friend, Mr. Furman, here, will go along.” “Will he?” Sam cried, discharging a pistol full at the officer. The bullet whistled past Nick’s ear and imbedded itself in the wall. Before Furman could again fire, the detective snatched the weapon from his hand. Then Nick Carter locked the door and put the key in his pocket. “Give me back my money,” said Smith.