Thereupon Patsy--for, of course, the supposed laborer was none other than Nick Carter’s assistant--rushed upstairs with a coil of rope. He passed Yasmar on the second flight. At the top of the third flight, he waited and listened until he heard the Westerner start up from the foot. That was Patsy’s signal to make for the narrow passage leading to the skylight and the roof. “There ye are,” he said, as he tossed the coil of rope to the riggers. Then, without loss of a moment, he returned to the fourth floor. A door was just closing down the hall as Patsy stepped out of the passage. The detective was too late to see the man who entered the room, but he was fairly certain it was Yasmar. Proceeding noiselessly to the door, he halted and listened. Voices, pitched in a low key, reached him. It was impossible to distinguish the spoken words, although Patsy strained his ears in the attempt. He was anxious to overhear something which would make it absolutely sure that he was on the right trail. Stooping, he tried the old-fashioned trick of looking through the keyhole, but found that a hat had been hung from the knob inside, effectually covering the small aperture. Raising himself erect, Patsy made a quick survey to left and right. Instinctively, he came to the conclusion that the door to the right of the one before which he was standing was more promising than the one on the left. He went to the door and tried it, but found it locked. A skeleton key admitted him with very little trouble, and he found himself in an empty room. A door led from this room into the one which Yasmar had entered, but it was closed and probably fastened. Again Patsy tried to look through the keyhole, but this time he found the opening stuffed with paper. “It’s dead sure they do things in that room they don’t want people to get onto,” thought Patsy, “and that proves, in a way, that my man is there. Still, I’d like to get a fair and square look at him.” Sinking down on his knees, he laid his ear against the crack at the edge of the door. The talkers were still guarded in their tones, and he could hear nothing. He remained on his knees, however, and presently he heard a movement as of some one rising. Steps crossed the floor. “This is getting infernally tiresome,” said a voice. “Gillman is slow in keeping his appointment.” “Something has happened to detain him,” said another voice. “Let’s go out and get a drink. Probably he’ll be here by the time we get back.” “I’m with you, old man.” Some one else arose and crossed the floor. Then the door was unlocked, opened, closed and locked again, and steps could be heard passing down the hall. Rising quickly, Patsy went to a window overlooking the street, raised it, and looked down. He was rewarded by seeing Yasmar come out, accompanied by a short, thickset man with an iron-gray mustache. The second man looked like another Westerner.