The uncle might be lying, or he might be telling the truth. Nick had his own opinion on the matter, but he could not express it, and he would not have expressed it if he could.
"I suppose you are wondering what fate is in store for you?" showing his teeth in a diabolical smile. "It is the fate of the interferer. To-morrow morning you will sleep at the bottom of the Potomac. The prospect doesn't seem to frighten you. Well, I'll give you credit for being a thoroughbred. Pity you hadn't been born with a little more sense. Yes, you're booked for fish-bait, all right, and this is how I'll do the job. That big trunk, there in the corner"—pointing to a Saratoga—"will hold you fast and sure. A little after daybreak to-morrow morning an expressman will come for it. He will deposit it near the Mt. Vernon wharf, from which it will be conveyed to a small launch. On board that launch will be your humble servant, and, after an hour's trip down the river, the launch will return without the trunk. Am I explicit enough for your understanding?"
Nick nodded his head, and Peter Mannion thought he saw his face blanch with fear and dread.
"Everything," the villain went on, as he blew a wreath of smoke toward the ceiling, "has been arranged with care. The landlady of this flat is unsuspicious. She is a German, and she is resting under the belief that I am your elder brother. She did not see me as you see me now. Oh, no, Nicholas, not for your honey-boy. She talked with a very old man, with two arms—thanks to this wig and these whiskers"—fishing them from his pocket—"and this wooden arm"—picking it up from the floor—"and if she sees me go out, she will again see the same aged abuser of trusting innocence. I have nothing more to say at this moment, except to remark that I shall remain here with you until just before daylight. Then I shall put you into the trunk, stuff the blank places with pillows and sheets, lock the trunk, take away the key, and leave you for the kind offices of the expressman."
And so the night passed. Nick Carter suffered, how much he never told, for he was not one to expose his scars. The cords hurt his wrists and ankles, and the gag was a source of torture. But he bore it all without a sign of distress, and there was nothing of the craven in his pale face when at daylight he was lifted and doubled up into the Saratoga trunk.
Peter Mannion's words as he left the room were these:
"We shall never see each other again. I leave you with this reflection to make more bitter your last hours on earth: For the first time in your life you have bumped up against a smarter man than yourself. Ta! ta!"
CHAPTER XIX.
OUT OF DEATH'S SHADOW.
A well-dressed man, with white hair and whiskers, occupied a stool in front of a fruit-stand opposite Nick Carter's rooms from eight o'clock until half-past nine on the morning following the trunk episode. The man was Peter Mannion, and he was making sure that Chick was not in town at the time of the opening of court. At half-past nine a telegraph boy appeared. He went quickly up the stairway of the house where Nick had lodged, and before his return to the street he was stopped by Peter Mannion. "If you have a telegram for Mr. Carter," he said, "I'll take it and sign for it. Here is my authority," and he produced a card upon which was written: "Deliver to bearer all letters, notes, and telegrams for me that may come to-day"—giving the date. "Nicholas Carter." The boy, without hesitation, gave up an envelope containing a telegram. When the book had been signed, Peter Mannion opened the telegram, which was dated Frederick, Md., and read: "Will be with you seven o'clock to-night. C. Carter."