The interruption came, instead, from a man who flung aside a portière masking a doorway, and quickly entered the room--a well-built, dark-featured man, wearing glasses and a short, pointed beard. He also wore, as Nick was quick to notice--a figured vest. CHAPTER VII. THE AMBUSH. “The man with a figured vest, Jack Conroy, mentioned by Patsy.” This thought passed like a flash through Nick Carter’s mind when the intruder stepped into the room. Instantly, too, Nick suspected trickery, and his right hand went instinctively toward his hip pocket. On the instant, however, the intruder covered him with a revolver. “Hold on!” he exclaimed. “Don’t you attempt to pull a gun, Carter, or there’ll be nothing left but the clean-up. I’ve got the drop on you.” “So I now observe,” Nick put in dryly. “But not because I thought it specially necessary, mind you, beyond preventing you from putting something over on me, as you have threatened my friend here,” Conroy quickly added. “You sit quiet and keep your hands in sight, as you told her, and there’ll be no bloodshed. This business can be settled without using guns--and settled right.” “Without using guns, eh?” said Nick, sharply eying him. “That’s what.” “And is that why you are so ready with one?” “I told you why, Carter, and it goes. I’m no gunman, but I don’t propose to let you give me the worst of it, nor this young lady. There will be no more trouble unless you reach for a weapon. If you do--well, I’ll take mighty good care that mine barks first.” “We’ll let it go at that, then,” said Nick, settling back in his chair. “Who are you and how do you figure in this business? Kate Crandall said she was alone here.” “So I did, Carter, and supposed----” “You keep quiet, Kate, and let me do the talking with this detective,” Conroy commanded, interrupting her when she pulled herself together and started to explain. “He has made a mistake, a big blunder, and I’m going to set him right--providing he is not too pig-headed to see things right.” Conroy coolly sat down while speaking. He took a chair at the table, one directly opposite that occupied by the detective, and he then laid his revolver directly in front of him on the table, where it could be easily reached. “Now, Carter, we’ll discuss this business man fashion,” he said curtly. “I’ll not touch the gun unless you reach for yours.” “Very well,” said Nick indifferently. “But you have not answered my questions.” “What questions?” “Who are you and how do you figure in this business?” Nick repeated. “Why were you concealed in that room?” “That isn’t a room,” said Conroy, with a jerk of his thumb toward the door through which he had entered. “That door leads into the rear hall and out to the kitchen.” “Why were you concealed there, then?” “I wasn’t concealed there. I only happened to be there,” Conroy coolly asserted. “Kate Crandall did not know I was in the house. Nor was I, in fact, until after you had entered.” “Well?”