“Certainly,” was the reply.
Ten minutes later, the house detective, having dressed hastily, put in an appearance. Nick greeted him and drew him aside. He knew Stickney, but had not seen fit to reveal that fact to the floor clerk.
“Look here, Stickney,” he said, as soon as they were out of earshot, “I suppose you wonder what you’re up against. I’m registered here under the name of Thomas Mortimer, but you know me better as Nick Carter.”
Stickney gave a low whistle. “For the love of Mike!” he ejaculated under his breath. “Let me have a good look at you. Yes, I guess you’re Nick all right, although I wouldn’t have dreamed of it if I’d passed you a dozen times. What’s the matter? Is there anything queer going on here?”
Nick nodded. “Very queer,” he answered. “This isn’t the proper time to go into particulars, but I’ll tell you this much. The man in number twenty-two has a room or two to rent in his upper story, and if you’re not careful he’s going to commit a terrible crime this very night. There are reasons for keeping dark, and for not taking him into custody just yet. Will you help me, though, to save him from himself, and to shield his intended victim?”
“Sure thing!” was the prompt answer. “I’ll do anything I can. I’d like to know a little more about it, and I’d insist if you were any one else. I can trust you, though, and I’ll keep mum until you give me the word. What is it you want?”
“Something very simple.”
Nick drew nearer to the house detective and spoke even lower. “Do you get the idea?” he asked, in conclusion.
Stickney nodded. “Of course,” he answered. “I can fix that up without any trouble. Is that all you want me to do?”