There was no need to tell Stuart Floyd what it was, nor did he stop to learn whither it ran.
He turned like a flash and darted toward the main stairway of the hotel, down which he fled at top speed, tearing off his disguise while he sped down the stair and thrusting it into his pocket.
Chick Carter had caught sight of him, however, and instantly guessed the truth.
“He’s wise, by thunder, and knows we’re on his trail,” flashed through Chick’s mind. “But in getting him, I must get the others, also. I’ll take the other course.”
Chick did not stop to inform Nick what had occurred. He rushed to the side stairway at the end of the corridor, and flew down each flight at record speed, bent upon picking up Floyd when he emerged from the front of the house.
Though he came near being too late, his tremendous efforts proved successful. He caught sight of Floyd running across the avenue on which the house fronted, and then darting into a cross street leading toward the East Side.
“I’ll get you now, by Jove,” Chick muttered, with eyes alert. “If you give me the slip this night, you shall have a medal.”
Floyd, seeming to feel reasonably safe when well away from the hotel, slowed down in order not to attract attention. Several times he looked back, however, but could discover no one following him.
Chick was steadily gaining on him, nevertheless, and before a block had been covered he met a policeman.
“Here, Grady, one moment,” he said sharply.