He did not like the way he crowded against him.
There was still no light or motion from across the airshaft.
The detective, standing with one hand resting on the window ledge, felt his fingers come in contact with some metallic substance.
He picked it up, and tried to discover its nature by the sense of feeling.
But that was a hard thing to do.
He could hear the occupant of the flat moving away toward the windows facing on Forty-third Street, and, in a moment, lit a match.
The thing he held in his hand was evidently a revolving armature, and in one end was a “chuck,” into which a diamond-pointed drill could be fitted. Nick slipped the article into his pocket and turned away from the bathroom window.
“There is no use in staying here,” he thought, “for the burglary was probably planned in this room. I was a fool to come in here looking for help.”
He had no doubt that the burglars had in some way been warned before he was well in the rooms.
“Where are you going?”