The remaining three men, with the lieutenant and Nick Carter, went into the house, going in by the front yard door, which Chick had carefully left unfastened, as has been described.
Carter was in the lead. He pushed open the door in the yard without difficulty, and swiftly mounted to the floor above, where the artists in rascality were at work.
They found the room at once. It was the only one which showed a light under the door. Listening intently, they made out voices and the click of tools inside.
“Now,” whispered Nick to the men behind him. “Follow close when I open the door. Don’t give them time to rally from their first surprise! Get all that?”
“We have it,” grunted the lieutenant. “Drive on, Carter!”
The detective turned the handle without any sound, and flung the door wide open.
“Drop everything!” he commanded, in sharp, metallic tones.
He had stepped into the room as coolly as if he lived there. The lieutenant and his men were on his heels, and they were prepared to subdue any of the operators who might show signs of resistance.
For a moment there was nothing of the kind. The surprise was complete. The advent of the detective and his men had been like a thunderbolt dropped into this hive of misdirected industry.
The two men still at work on the polished plates at the bench leaped up as if their chairs had suddenly become red-hot. The fellow who had been examining and passing upon the spurious bills sprang into the middle of the room. With the movement, he scattered thousands of dollars’ worth of phony money, like leaves in a wintry gale. At the same time he grunted a fierce but futile oath.