In a corner of the cave, tied to a stake driven into the ground, was the banker. Nick cut the bond and led Mr. Field into the open air. “Nick Carter!” he exclaimed. “Yes,” replied the detective, “I have come to take you home.” That home-coming was joyful, indeed. The banker clasped his daughter in his arms, weeping from pure happiness. Still, much remained to be done to break up the gang and punish those already captured. The work was full of difficulties and entailed many adventures, but eventually Nick succeeded in his task. The Calhoun woman served a long term in the penitentiary. Greer was prosecuted on the charge of murdering Wilbur Field, but the jury disagreed. On another indictment he received a long sentence. Shortly after his return, Hilton Field settled up his affairs and, with his daughters, went to Europe. While sailing in the Mediterranean one day, a sudden storm arose, and the yacht in which were Field and his children, was capsized. Field alone was saved. This catastrophe seemed to have dried up the milk of human kindness in Field’s heart. He returned to America, plunged into the vortex of Wall Street, and became known as one of the shrewdest, richest and most unscrupulous operators the “Street” had ever known. In a few years time he had become one of the richest men in America. He built a palace on Riverside Drive, one of the most beautiful neighborhoods in New York City, retired from active business, and lived in his magnificent home a life of solitary grandeur. Of the few men who knew him as friends, Nick Carter was one, and although they saw each other infrequently, the feeling of mutual esteem increased with years. At first, Nick believed that when the scattered members of the gang that had kidnaped him learned of the banker’s return to New York, they would annoy him. But many years passed without a sign of revenge, and Nick’s anxiety was lulled to sleep. CHAPTER XVI. WHOSE THE BRAIN? It was destined to be rudely awakened. One morning, twenty-four years after the kidnaping of Hilton Field, Nick Carter was sitting in his office examining some important papers when one of his assistants placed a telegram before him. Opening it, Nick read this message: “Come at once to Mr. Hilton Field’s house on Riverside Drive. A murder. (Signed), “FREDERIC BARNES.” Nick thrust the message into his pocket. “Humph!” he muttered. “And Edmund Greer was released from Sing Sing only a month ago!” Hurrying from his office, Nick boarded a Subway train and, leaving it at the station nearest his destination, jumped into a cab. According to the dispatch a murder had been committed. As the cab bowled along Nick wondered who it was who had been suddenly deprived of life. Perhaps it was Mr. Field himself.