CHAPTER XIX.
THE KNOCK-OUT DROPS.
The man of many trails read the inscription on the wall more than once before he turned away.
It meant him.
There was not the least doubt of this, and for some time the detective stood rooted to the spot, as it were, and looked at what appeared to be a record of doom.
At last he went over to the dead man in the chair, and, lifting the body, he knew what had terminated Jack Redmond’s career.
The hands of some fiend had strangled him, and Nick seemed to inspect the marks on the throat for the time that had elapsed since the tragedy.
Slowly and with deliberation the detective quitted the scene of crime and went down the steps.
At the bottom he nearly ran against a woman with a black shawl pulled over her head in such a manner as to conceal her features. She tried to escape the detective, but the detective’s hand shot out and drew her toward him.
With the other hand he removed the shawl and looked into a wan face seamed with want and dissipation.
“You know Jack?” he said.