“The crooks’ trunks,” put in Patsy. “I’ve got you, chief, hands down. You don’t need to tell me what to do in a case of this kind.”
“Very good,” said Nick. “Telephone to the house any discovery you may make, providing circumstances prevent you from returning. Otherwise, we’ll meet there, as usual. That’s all—except to dig in, tooth and nail, to trace these rascals.”
It then was nine o’clock.
Precisely two hours had passed since the departure of Mortimer Deland and Fannie Coyle—and the undertaker’s wagon filled with the stolen treasures.[Pg 24]
CHAPTER VI.
A MAN OF NERVE.
While Nick Carter returned to the Strickland flat to impart such information and instructions as would serve his purpose, Chick Carter parted from Patsy on the corner of Fifth Avenue, then hastened home to use the telephone and directory.
Instead of calling up the local undertakers, however, Chick decided that he first would ascertain from police headquarters whether the theft of such extraordinary articles as a casket and an undertaker’s team had been reported to the police. He had no great hope of hitting the trail so quickly—but he was agreeably disappointed.
“Yes, Chick, sure!” was the reply by a sergeant who responded, and to whom the detective had mentioned his name. “Both were stolen three days ago from Michael Hanlon, a Harlem undertaker.”
“I have seen nothing published about it,” said Chick.
“The facts have been suppressed pending an investigation.”