“I am Nick Carter. There has been a crime committed back there, and until I know more about it you must keep everybody out. Let none of these curiosity-seekers intrude.”
“I am at your service, Mr. Carter,” said Brown. “Lord, I’m glad you’re here. Seems to me you always bob up when anything happens. What is it? Murder?”
“I want to find out. Is there anybody with you?”
“Yes, McCarthy is coming, but he’s so fat it’s hard and slow work for him to get up all these stairs. Here he is now.”
Some one rapped on the door at that instant. Brown admitted a policeman, who was blowing like a porpoise.
“Bad cess to thim shtairs!” gasped McCarthy, “an’ thor had bin tin more ov ’em, sure it’s a dead mon I’d be this minute.”
“Well, McCarthy, just take charge of this door, and see that no one enters who has no right. Those who have a right, and whom I want to come in, are persons who have been in this building within the last hour, and the boy who carried you the news.”
Brown opened the door and beckoned to the boy to enter. The latter drew back as if about to fly again, but a man near by grasped him by the shoulder and pushed him toward the door.
“Who are you?” inquired Nick.
“I’m the janitor,” was the reply.