The detective smiled in spite of his efforts to refrain from doing so.
“I suppose you have business to attend to?” said the broker, extending his hand.
He had accomplished what he wished and was anxious to bring the interview to an end.
“Y-e-s,” drawled Nick. “I have some business to attend to.”
“Then don’t let me detain you,” said Tom Smith.
The pair of handcuffs that the detective drew from his pocket were neat ones, and the pistol that he brought to light with them was gold-mounted, but their beauty did not strike the broker.
“What do you mean?” he cried, aghast, as he retreated to the furthest end of the room.
“That you will accompany me to police headquarters,” said Nick Carter. “You won’t be lonesome; our friend, Mr. Furman, here, will go along.”
“Will he?” Sam cried, discharging a pistol full at the officer.
The bullet whistled past Nick’s ear and imbedded itself in the wall.