Then with a half-smothered scream of dismay he ripped open the table drawer at which he sat and snatched out a revolver.
Before Nick fairly realized it, so rapid and quick was the move, he found himself with the weapon leveled pointblank at his head.
CHAPTER XIII.
NICK CALLS THE TURN.
“You throw up your hands, Carter, and listen to me!”
This was the command that came from Harry Royal as he leveled his revolver at the detective’s head.
Nick promptly obeyed.
The shrewd detective, however, was laughing in his sleeve. He had learned from long experience that there is little to be feared from a man who pulls a gun and does not instantly fire. In nine cases out of ten the act is only a bluff.
“I’ll not be arrested, Carter, I’ve made up my mind to that,” Royal hoarsely cried. “Death is preferable to the disgrace and horror of a prison cell. I don’t intend to harm you, but I swear I’ll shoot myself if you attempt to arrest me.”
Nick was smiling now.
“You evidently take me for a foe, Royal,” said he genially. “Instead, my boy, I am as good a friend as you have in the world. Put up that toy, Royal, and prepare to go with me.”