The table gave way beneath his weight, and fell to the floor with a crash.
In a moment the men in the room beyond were on their feet.
Nick sprang to the door through which he had entered the room, closed and locked it after him, and made a dash for the outer room.
At the door he was met by two employees of the place whose attention had been attracted by the noise of the fall.
“What’s the matter, Pomp?” one of them asked, excitedly.
“That ain’t Pomp,” shouted the other, reaching for his pistol; “that’s some spy.”
Nick struck out hard and quick, and both men went down.
Before the men at the table could get upon their feet, or get where they could make any effort to stop him, the detective was at the outer door confronting the negro who had admitted him.
The darky sprang to the door as though to bar his exit.
The next moment he felt the cold muzzle of a revolver pressed against his temple, and sank trembling to the floor.