“You mean?”
“It’s the melting pot, not for me, Chick, in reality, but for this priceless Waldmere plate—unless we can move quickly enough to prevent it.”
“By gracious, chief, that must be what he meant!” cried Patsy, with countenance lighting.
“But who is the man, Nick?” Chick demanded. “You have said nothing to me about meeting him.”
“I thought it hardly worth while,” Nick replied. “The threats of such rascals have no weight with me. The man was Stuart Floyd.”
“Great guns!” said Chick. “Is he in New York again?”
“Very much here.”
“Were you aware of it before?”
“No.”
“He must have been lying mighty low. I have not heard so much as a hint at it.”