“No, not you!” he quietly remarked. “You did not stab me, and you did not attempt to obtain money by false pretenses from the banker’s daughter. You are an abused saint, you are.” “I hate! I hate you!” she exclaimed, vehemently. She called to the hospital attendants to save her from being kidnaped. Nick Carter laughed at this. He was more than reasonably sure of success; she, he felt certain, would talk rather than remain in prison any length of time. Not wishing to walk through the streets with a prisoner dressed in woman’s attire, the detective engaged a coach and was driven to headquarters. The chief was delighted at the capture; like his subordinate, he believed the woman could be made to talk. She was taken away and locked in a cell, neither of the officers questioning her. “After the woman is there an hour,” said the chief, “she will be willing to do almost anything to get out.” In this Nick agreed with him. Nick remained at headquarters for an hour or more, until he was summoned into the chief’s private office. Louise Calhoun was there, and Nick’s superior was engaged in questioning her. No tears dimmed her eyes. Brazen and defiant, she refused to utter a single word. While they were thus engaged, coaxing and threatening at the time, one of the _attachés_ of the detective’s office entered the room in great haste. “Why do you come in here without knocking?” demanded the chief, angrily. “Excuse me, sir, but I was told to come to you right away,” said the fellow; “a telegram has just come in, saying an important prisoner has made his escape.” “What!” cried the chief and Nick in a single breath. “Elmer Greer, sir.” “Thank God for that!” exclaimed Louise Calhoun, her face instantly becoming wreathed with smiles. “Where was the policeman who was detailed to watch him?” asked the chief, while Nick gave birth to a series of expressions more forcible than polite. “He left the room,” said the _attaché_, “and when he returned he found that the prisoner had slipped his handcuffs and got away.” “Tell the operator on duty to send a telegram to the First Precinct Station, ordering the policeman to report to me,” said the chief; then, turning to Nick, he continued: “Mr. Carter, this is too bad.” “I’d like to have the policeman in a room with the door locked, and a supply of horsewhips,” was the sentiment expressed by the detective. Louise was taken back to the cells, and the chief and Nick Carter had a long conference. CHAPTER XI. WITHIN AN ACE. Two days later Nick Carter received a telegram. The message was signed by an assumed name, but Nick knew from whom it came. That afternoon the great detective arrived in Norwalk, Conn., and within an hour was closeted in a room in a hotel with Tambourine Jack. Crackers, of course, was also present. The little fellow had done splendid work, and, incidentally, so had Crackers.