With the towel concealed behind his back, Mannion came to Nick's side. Suddenly, without a word, the hand with the towel appeared, when, like a flash, out came Nick's hand from his pocket, and the villain, looking down into the muzzle of a revolver, saw sudden death and knew that his purpose was stayed.
Retreating to the middle of the room, he hissed out these words:
"I didn't need the towel to tell me you were a cursed detective in disguise."
"And I didn't need much more evidence to prove that you are the man I want," retorted Nick, in his own character. "So divest yourself of your weapons and hold out those pretty wrists. The handcuffs are ready for them. Come, be quick about it"—the voice was now stern and menacing—"and don't try to come any of your California tricks, for at the first treacherous move I'll make a shambles out of the room."
Mannion gritted his teeth, cast a murderous glance at the triumphant man-hunter, and then, from his hip pocket, produced a silver-mounted revolver.
"It is a pity to give this up," he said surlily, as he fondled it in his hand, without, however, turning the muzzle in Nick's direction.
"Throw it on the bed or——"
The sentence was not finished, for in an access of desperation, and in entire disregard of his personal safety, Mannion, as swift as thought almost, sent the weapon whirling through the air. It struck Nick Carter squarely on the forehead, cutting the flesh, and sent him tumbling out of the chair. The next instant, Mannion brushed past his fallen enemy, opened the door, and rushed to the head of the stairs.
There he hesitated, for the thought struck him at the moment that the great detective he had just left had not, probably, come to the house alone; that there were officers down-stairs, ready to give assistance whenever it should be needed. Therefore, turning from the stair landing, he hurried to a vacant room fronting the street.