Ramsay was not there, and neither was Gillman, nor Starlick--the man in the brown derby hat. Patsy, of course, knew only Ramsay by sight, but he felt sure that he could recognize the others by their voices. Failing to find all or either of the three, he caught a low-pitched conversation coming from two longshoremen in one corner. One remark, which he caught in passing, electrified him. “It was that prize landlubber, Nick Carter, and his mate, that’s who it was.” Feigning drunkenness, Patsy flopped into a chair and sprawled out on a table, his head in his arms. “Was the pickin’s good?” asked one of the men. “Tollable.” “And what was done with ’em?” “They’re down below.” “Will they ever show above the hatches ag’in?” “Not this v’yage?” Marking the first speaker well, Patsy got up and staggered out. His manner changed when he got clear of the dive, and he rushed away in the direction of the corner. He was not long in finding an officer, and, after showing his badge and telling who he was, he informed the policeman that Nick Carter was in a bad way at Boucicault’s. The officer gave a low whistle, a couple of patrolmen were picked up, and the four of them returned to the dive. To arrest the man whom Patsy had heard telling about Nick to his companion was the work of only a few moments. The fellow resisted and denied strenuously having raised a hand against the detective. A search of his clothes, however, developed Nick’s watch and one of his revolvers. Patsy recognized the articles, and the longshoreman was scared into leading the officers to the place where the two detectives had been confined. They came up under the chamber and effected an entrance by means of a rusty old lever which worked the movable stone slab. Nick and Chick were dragged out into the fresher air. While Patsy was busying himself with them, the officers went upstairs and began a hunt for Boucicault and for any other men connected with the outrage. Boucicault had vanished--a habit he had when any particularly murderous bit of work had been “pulled off” in his den. When he appeared in court he usually proved an “alibi,” and--some said--a political pull did the rest for him. Boucicault could not be found, but three ruffians were discovered with incriminating evidence concealed in their clothes. Two of them had a pair of nickel-plated handcuffs, one the mate to Nick’s revolver found on the first man, and one had Chick’s revolvers and his watch. The articles were all identified, the prisoners were taken to headquarters in a patrol wagon, and Nick, Chick and Patsy started for home. There was nothing more to be done that night, Nick said, and they might as well go home and catch forty winks of sleep before morning. In truth, Nick and Chick were both in need of a quiet time, for they were still weak from the rough treatment they had received, and dizzy from the effects of the gas.