“Because they stopped the car at the side door, that one under the porte-cochère, and the three men lugged in a big burden wrapped in the robes. It looked like the figure of a man, but I couldn’t be sure of it. If——”
“There will be no ifs, Patsy, in about five minutes,” Chick interrupted. “The darkness now will cover our approach. Come on, all hands! We’ll find out why the milk is in the coconut—even if we have to break a nut or two.”
CHAPTER IX.
THE DROP SHOT.
Chick Carter led the way across one side of the wooded estate, closely followed by Patsy and the two headquarters’ detectives.
They moved noiselessly over the damp greensward, like shadows only a little darker than the darkness, and picked their way toward two lighted windows back of the porte-cochère. Though the curtains had been lowered, a thread of bright light under one of them told that a view of the room could easily be obtained.
Chick and Patsy crept near enough to peer in, and the scene that met their gaze was about what they expected.
The room was the library.
Seated in it was the entire gang of crooks—Mack, Duffy, Gleason, and Kennedy, with Duffy’s wife and son, and Kate Crandall. All were divested of their outdoor garments. All wore expressions of grim exultation—the occasion for which was plainly manifest. They were gazing darkly at the only other occupant of the room.
Nick Carter sat bound securely to a large armchair in one corner. His face was pale and a bit drawn, but the light in his stern eyes told the nature of his thoughts.
Chick did not wait to hear what was being said. He saw a revolver on the table near Mack’s hand. He drew Patsy back a little, then whispered: