"And so I was," replied Curly, "until they discovered that they didn't want me."
"Make up their minds that you wasn't in that little affair, eh?"
"That's the size of it, Red. Here's my two friends that I brought with me. Some one you don't know, and they ain't either of them known inside, either. Do you let them pass?"
"Sure, Curly. I lets them pass, if you say so."
"Come, lads," said Curly, without vouchsafing any further statement to the guard at the door; and so it was that the way was open for the two detectives to enter upon the mysteries of that infamous retreat where it was the proprietor's boast that no police officer had ever appeared without his own expressed permission.
The big room where the patrons congregated on Sunday night was comfortably filled when Nick Carter entered it with his two companions.
In all that place there were only two tables unoccupied, and one of those was almost directly in the centre of the room. Curly led the way to it at once, and the three seated themselves around it while the bank burglar sent out his order for the refreshments that were required.
Nick and Chick had made the necessary changes in their appearance; and each assumed the outward character and general aspect of a person who would be likely to frequent such a place as Grinnel's.
Nick Carter was always a thorough believer in the maxim that too much disguise was worse than none at all, and therefore, when the occasion required that he should assume one, it was his habit to do as little real disguising as possible, and therefore, with the exception of giving himself a black eye, and blocking out a couple of his teeth, fixing his face so that it appeared as though there was a couple days' growth of beard upon it, and donning a rough-looking costume, he was unchanged.
In a place like Mike Grinnel's no man thought of taking off his hat unless his head was too warm, and therefore Nick kept his on with the brim pulled down well over his eyes.