“I am off,” he said, clambering up the trelliswork and taking hold of the vines.
“And you will get as warm a reception as you ever had in your life!” muttered Nick.
He intended to let the would-be assassin enter his room, and then thrash him within an inch of his life. Nick went to his closet and picked up a heavy oaken walking stick.
The man was coming up the trelliswork slowly.
Suddenly there was a crashing sound, a yell and a volley of oaths. The trelliswork and vines had given way underneath the man’s weight, and he went crashing down into the yard.
An old gentleman who lived next door had seen the men in the yard, and when the man fell he thrust an old musket out of his window and fired point-blank at the man.
The gun had evidently not been fired since the Civil War. It knocked the old gentleman senseless by the force of its recoil and alarmed the whole neighborhood.
The men at once scaled the fence and got away. The old gentleman suffered from a lame shoulder for weeks.
CHAPTER LIV.
THE THIRD DEGREE.
At nine o’clock next morning Nick Carter was at Center Street police headquarters. After the men had been routed the night before, Nick had returned to his bed, and had had several hours of good sleep.