The clerk handed over a bundle, and the detective proceeded to look at them. There was a letter for Mr. Leonard Martin, bearing a Chicago postmark; also a telegram for James Nicholas. Nick slipped the telegram into his pocket, unnoticed by the clerk, and passed out through the doors again. This time he reversed his tactics, re-entered by the hall, and made his way to his room on the second floor. He read his telegram. It was from Chick, and ran thus: “Look out for a man with a mole on his right cheek, short, thickset, named Clancy. Will come with Patsy. Important that I should see you.” “This short, thickset man is making himself pretty numerous,” thought Nick, putting the telegram away in his grip. “What I want you to do, chief,” said Nick, approaching the officer, “is to wire the Chicago chief of police and ask for immediate information about a man named Leonard Martin. If the Chicago people know such a man, I’d like to learn his present whereabouts.” “I’ll send the dispatch at once,” said the chief. “Have the answer left with Jerome, when it comes.” “Very well.” The chief left the room and passed down the stairs. Nick went out, a few moments afterward, but did not descend to the first floor. On the contrary, he made his way along the hall to Room 13. There was no one else in the passage, and he paused at the door and listened intently. All was quiet inside. Stooping, he peered through the keyhole. The key was not in the lock, on the inside, so it seemed fairly certain that Mr. Martin was out. With a final swift glance up and down the passage, Nick drew a skeleton key from his pocket and quickly opened the door. To step inside and softly reclose the door was the work of only a moment. The room was exactly like the usual hotel chamber. There were two doors opening to right and left, so that, if desired, the apartment could be used _en suite_ with others adjoining. On the bed lay an open satchel, its contents very much disarranged. The owner had apparently left it in a hurry. Nick went over to the bed and looked down at the contents of the grip. The first object to catch his eye was a red wig with a false beard of the same color attached. This interested him mightily. There was a fat wallet in the satchel, and---- Just at that point the detective, steel-nerved though he was, experienced something like a shock. A dresser stood at the end of the room, at right angles with the foot of the bed. Out of the corner of his eyes Nick caught a glimpse of the glass, and in it was reflected the figure of a man. The man had opened the door leading off to the left and was standing just within it, coolly eying the detective. Furthermore, this man was short and thickset, and there was a black mole on his right cheek. Not only that, but he had a revolver in his hand and was training it full upon the intruder. In a flash Nick had made up his mind as to what he should do.