Then he beat on the door with his night stick, sounding an alarm on the stoop as well.
This finally aroused some one in the upper story, who raised a window to ask what all the row was about.
“Come down and let us in,” replied the officer. “You have been robbed.”
“Who are you?” asked the voice above.
“A police officer, and Mr. Carter, the detective,” was the officer’s reply.
The head was quickly withdrawn from the window, and, after the two on the stoop had waited what seemed to them a long time, a light flashed up in the hall and the door was immediately opened.
The two stepped in to see a young man of possibly twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age standing there with neither coat nor vest and his bare feet thrust into slippers.
“You say the house has been robbed?” asked the young man. “I see no indications of it.”
“They are not likely to be found in the halls,” said Nick. “But I should judge they are to be found in the parlor above.”
The young man without a word led the way up the stairs to a furnished hallroom, into which the stairs opened. Here he lit one of the lights of the chandelier, and Nick saw in a glance that the parlor in the front communicated with this furnished hall, occupying the whole width of the house.