And Nick’s free hand leveled the revolver straight at Pete’s head.
“I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” protested the negro. “Don’t trouble ’bout pointin’ that gun at me.”
“You behave yourself and you’ll be all right,” said Nick. “Keep those hands up.”
Assuring himself that Pete was thoroughly intimidated, Nick bent over the form of the “receiver” and fettered him securely. He added a gag, which would keep him quiet in case he should regain consciousness before he could be put in a safe place.
It was Pete’s turn next, and he was bound in a way which made a second escape impossible. He, too, was gagged.
“I believe, Mr. Benton,” said Nick, addressing the “fence,” who, however, had not sufficiently recovered to hear him, “that there is a cellar under this apartment.”
With little trouble Nick found a trapdoor which could be raised. He lifted it and discovered a ladder leading down into the darkness.
He lowered Benton down into this place with a piece of rope, and then steadied Pete so that the negro made the descent, although his hands were tied behind him.
Nick followed with the light.
The cellar was a damp and unwholesome dungeon, but it extended a long way in the direction of Sixth Avenue.