In a vague way, however, he realized that he was being roughly handled, that Graff and Shannon had rushed out into the alley, and that the three men were hurriedly taking him into the building.
He heard both doors closed and locked, then was conscious of being placed roughly on a cold cement floor, with two of the ruffians nearly crushing him in the inky darkness. This was dispelled in a moment by a glare of electric light, and the cobwebs then had cleared from his brain sufficiently for him to size up the surroundings.
He saw at a glance that he was in a chemical laboratory, a large, square room with shelved walls, laden with bottles, jars, carboys, and the like. A zinc-covered table was littered with the customary articles required by a chemist. There was a closet in one corner. Near by was an open door, an adjoining entry, and a narrow stairway leading up to the room in which the two men had been seated.
Patsy still was gazing around when Graft approached him, commanding his two confederates to bind him, which they quickly proceeded to do with cords brought from the closet, while Tim Hurst hurriedly stated where he discovered their captive.
“Who are you? Who sent you here to play the spy?” he fiercely questioned.
Though he keenly realized that he was in wrong, and that much of his good work might prove futile, Patsy lost neither his head nor his nerve.
“No one sent me,” he answered curtly. “I came on my own hook.”
“You lie!” Graff snapped harshly. “You are in Nick Carter’s employ.”
“By Heaven, I guess that’s right,” Shannon agreed, with a snarl. “He’s one of the dicks.”
“We’ll dick him! We’ll dick him all right when the time comes,” Graff fiercely declared. “But not now, not yet. The Thurlow pearls are of first importance, and I have only time to prepare for that job. We’ll settle with him later. Gag him, Shannon, and lock him in the closet. You must wait here and watch till we return. Make sure the whelp can’t escape. I’ll fix him later. I’ll fix him.”