Graff turned at the same moment, however, and thrust a weapon nearly under the detective’s nose.
“Don’t stir, Carter, foot or finger!” he commanded sternly. “If you do, you’ll be a dead one on the instant. I’ll send a bullet through your meddlesome head.”
Nick Carter was surprised, but not entirely, by the sudden threatening situation. His eyes were turned, not upon Graff’s bearded face, but upon his revolver and the rigid hand that held it—and upon the slightly discolored nail of his right thumb.
Nick recalled where he last had seen it. His gaze leaped up to the bearded face. In spite of beard and wig and slouch hat and padded coat, he now discovered the wheel within. He was gazing not at the remarkably artistic disguise, but, through it, at the thin face and threatening eyes of—Doctor David Devoll.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE LAST RESORT.
Chick was not idle that morning while his chief was engaged as described. He was not without equally serious misgivings concerning Patsy Garvan and the wisdom of Carter’s going alone to interview Doctor Devoll.
Chick’s anxiety was materially increased, moreover, when the Wilton House clerk brought him a letter to the smoking room about an hour after the chief’s departure, saying inquiringly:
“This may be important, and perhaps you would care to open it, though it is addressed to Mr. Blaisdell. It just came in with the first batch of mail.”
Chick took it eagerly and instantly recognized the hand of Patsy Garvan. He tore it open and read—the hurried letter Patsy had dropped in a street box while trailing Jim Shannon and Toby Monk.