“I mean, gentlemen, that David Mack conspired with your stenographer and other confederates to abduct the Madden child--knowing very well that you, Mr. Madden, would pay even half a million dollars for her safe return.” “Good heavens!” John Madden sank back in his chair as if completely nonplused. “That is the story in a nutshell, gentlemen, and that is why David Mack was appointed to conduct negotiations with a fictitious Redlaw. Observe, Mr. Madden, how easy that would make it for him to take your money and restore your missing child.” Mellen banged the table with both fists, crying angrily: “By Heaven, that scoundrel shall pay for this. I will have his life. I will----” “On the contrary, Mr. Mellen, you will be wise and let the law inflict the penalty,” Chick Carter interrupted. “Nick already is at work along these lines. We shall, I think, have Mack and all of his confederates in custody before midnight--and the stolen child safe in her own home.” “Heaven grant it!” cried Madden fervently. “If the time should be longer, however, you must be patient,” Chick quickly added. “If Mack should return before we have succeeded in rounding him up, you must have him arrested immediately, and allow him no communication with persons outside. I do not think that will occur, however, if my suspicions are correct. Now, Mr. Madden, give me precise directions for reaching Mack’s house in Westchester.” “Is there where you expect to find my child?” “I certainly do.” “By Heaven, then, I will go with you.” “And I, also,” cried Mellen. “I want one crack at that miscreant.” Chick checked them with a gesture. “On the contrary, gentlemen, you must do absolutely nothing in this matter,” he firmly insisted. “Nothing?” “It is out of your line, gentlemen. It is one for men of my vocation to handle. An indiscreet step on your part might ruin all that we have accomplished. Be patient, I repeat, until we have finished our work.” Both bankers now saw the wisdom of his advice, and they readily yielded to it. Five minutes later, having obtained the directions he required, Chick left their office and hastened home. Nick Carter had not returned. No word had been received from Patsy Garvan. It then was nearly six o’clock. Chick rang for Danny Maloney and the touring car, then telephoned to police headquarters. More than an hour later, just as the dusk of evening was deepening to darkness, Chick alighted from the car with two plain-clothes men in a rural road amid the wooded hills of Westchester County, and cautiously approached a fine old wooden residence half hidden among trees in the near distance. The three detectives still were outside of the private grounds, when, emerging from some shrubbery flanking one side of the extensive estate, a quick, athletic figure hurried toward them. “Great Scott!” Chick quietly exclaimed. “Is it you, Patsy?” “You bet, Chick, and I’m mighty glad you have showed up,” said Patsy expressively. “Something doing, eh?”