“I’ve given you your chance,” the detective said, as he laid his hand on the knob, “and you haven’t seen fit to take it. I can find Stone without aid, and when I do, you’ll discover that you’ve made a bad bargain. Good afternoon.”
The door closed behind the lithe figure, and Follansbee just for a moment allowed his stiff attitude to relax. It seemed as though the lean body shrank, that his clothes suddenly became too large for him. There was a curious mummylike expression about his sharp features as he leaned against the mantel.
“How much does he know?” he muttered to himself. “By heavens, it was well that I got rid of Stone when I did. I defy him to find out where he is now.”
A sudden gust of anger swept over him, and he reeled toward the door, shaking his fists. “I defy you! I defy you!” he shrieked, in his thin voice. “Look out for yourself, Nick Carter! Men have died for less than you have done.”
There was an unholy meaning in his voice, and the face looked fiendish in its menace. At that moment Stephen Follansbee looked what he was—an insatiable bird of prey. “Only let me get you into my power,” he continued, “and nothing in the world will save you!”
Nick Carter had made another enemy; one whose scientific resources and unusual shrewdness might have daunted almost any one, when coupled, as they were, with the maddening thirst for revenge which shook him at that moment.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
PATSY TRACES THE AMBULANCE.
There is always a certain element of luck in one’s experiences, and chance ordained it that Patsy Garvan should arrive in front of St. Swithin’s Hospital at just the right moment. His anxiety had sent him in that direction after his repeated failures to reach his chief, but he had no very definite idea in view.
He had driven the little runabout to Amsterdam Avenue partly to kill time during his chief’s absence from the hotel. Having left the car around the corner, he had approached the hospital on foot. When he came near the big entrance, he noticed an ambulance—evidently a private one, for there was no lettering on it—drawn up at the curb with a circle of the curious loitering about it. Evidently some patient was to be taken away in the ambulance; perhaps a convalescent. Patsy mingled with the crowd, but before he had time to make any inquiries, a couple of hospital attendants appeared, half carrying, half supporting a tall man.