“It was something like that,” confessed Swagara. “But not quite. Ched Ramar saw me in a restaurant on the East Side of New York, where I sometimes play chess. He is a chess player, and he got into conversation with me one night. It ended in my saying I wanted employment, and soon—I don’t know how it was—I found myself engaged by him. I keep his rooms in order, and I do anything he tells me.”
“Exactly. You do what he tells you, whether you want to do so or not.”
As Nick Carter spoke, he moved his hands quickly before Swagara’s face, at the same moment that he turned on it a fierce light from a crystal disk set at a certain angle to the electric light over his desk.
Swagara stiffened in his chair. Then he heaved a deep sigh and fell fast asleep.
“A very easy subject,” observed Nick. “No wonder Ched Ramar uses him in his house. He finds it convenient to have a man he can handle as he does Swagara. Patsy!”
“I’m here!” responded Patsy promptly.
“Take a good look at this young man. Can you make up to pass for him, do you think?”
“Can I?” snorted Patsy confidently. “Watch me. Where shall I do it? Right here?”
“Yes. I’ll give you the paints and things. You can take his suit of clothes when your face and hands are made up. Be careful to get the exact shading of his features. You will have to use plain-glass spectacles. You couldn’t see through his. But I can give you a pair that will look exactly like them.”
“Say!” exclaimed Patsy, with a chuckle, as Nick Carter brought a box of grease paints, with boxes of powder, puffs, and bits of soft chamois leather and put them on the table in front of him. “This is the easiest thing I have had for six months. Can I look like this Jap? Well, when I get through, he’ll think he’s Patsy Garvan, and he’ll be asking me when I got in from Tokyo.”