Nick Carter crept from tree to tree of the large elms that lined the avenue, and not a word uttered by the rascals escaped him. He knew what they contemplated--the robbery of Tom Smith’s safe. The two took a car, and Nick Carter boarded the next one. “You are out rather late, mother,” said Elmer Greer to an old Irish woman, who presided over an apple stand on the corner of Broad and Wall Streets. “I’m not your mother, I’m a decent woman,” replied the fruit vendor. “You will get your death out in this cold.” “Begorra, then, I’ll give you an invitation, now, to me funeral.” “How much is your stock worth?” Greer asked, ramming his hands in his pockets and rattling some silver. The old woman was all smiles as she bustled around the stand and took an account of stock. “I suppose you don’t want to buy the stand itself?” “Well, no; only the fruit.” “Let me see,” resting an elbow on one hand while she began to fondle her chin with the other, lost in the mazes of a mathematical calculation. “I should say twelve shillings.” “Will you go home when you’re sold out?” Greer asked. “Where else?” Elmer threw a dollar and a half on the stand, saying: “You may have your stock to begin business with in the morning; I don’t want it.” The old woman was considerably surprised at the gentleman’s generosity, but she managed to mumble loud enough for him to hear: “God bless your honor.” “Go home now,” said Greer, as he walked toward Pine Street. He had not gone far when the apple woman dumped her goods, stand and all, into the gutter. “You are becoming generous, Elmer Greer,” she said, flinging the money he had given her also into the street. “Some poor devil, I hope, may find that.” The apple woman, keeping in the shade of the buildings which lined Broad Street, closely followed Greer. At Pine Street the rascal was met by Jack Shea and two others. The building in which Smith had an office was but a few steps away. To open the main door was but the work of a few moments for such an experienced cracksman as Jack Shea. The door of Smith’s office was forced with still greater ease. The building was an old one; it did not contain many offices, and the janitor did not reside on the premises. All this was well known to Elmer Greer. The old apple woman had taken off her shoes and followed the villains upstairs. She stood behind the door where she could conveniently see all that took place without herself being seen. The old apple woman was Nick Carter. He had Elmer Greer now with no chance of escape. Villain as the fellow was, there was one thing about him that won even the detective’s admiration, and that was his courage. Surrounded by dangers, as Elmer Greer knew himself to be, he had the hardihood to remain in the metropolis, when ninety-nine men out of a hundred, if placed in a similar position, would seek safety in flight.