The masquerading criminal held down the cover of the little check book with his left hand, while he began to write with the other. Lumsden leaned over his shoulder, watching him, as if ready to try his luck at signing his name as soon as the rest of the check was filled in. His hand slipped into his pocket, however, and when it came out silently, there was something in it which had a metallic gleam.
“Ah! Thanks!” he exclaimed, a moment or two later. “You have made it very easy for me, Gordon!”
Simultaneously there was a sudden, unlooked-for swoop, followed quickly by the click of a pair of handcuffs as they closed on Green Eye’s wrists.
And the voice which uttered the mocking words was not the voice of Harold Lumsden, but that of Nick Carter himself. Gordon knew it after the first word or two, and even if he had not done so, the action which went along with it would have been enlightening enough.
“Nick Carter, by Heaven!” the rogue cried hoarsely, jumping to his feet and overturning the chair.
“Nick Carter—exactly,” the detective agreed, removing the wig which had played such a large part in transforming him into Harold Lumsden. “You didn’t think you were going to have this little masked ball all to yourself, did you?”
After the first dazed shock—a merely momentary one—had passed, Gordon’s face seemed to grow actually black with rage and hatred.
“You may think you have me, curse you!” he snarled. “But I’ll show you——”
He leaped forward, his manacled arms raised to strike together. Nick quietly sidestepped the mad bull-like rush, but Green Eye turned and charged him again.
There was one more surprise awaiting him, though. The door opened, and Chick entered, coolly fingering an automatic.