“Betrayed!” exclaimed Gentleman George, with an oath.
“Surrender!” chorused the officers. The men had no thought of flight, so awed were they by the suddenness of the surprise.
But Gentleman George and Red Rob both made a break for liberty.
They leaped with one impulse for the door. A policeman barred the way, but Gentleman George's revolver cracked, and the officer fell to the floor of the cabin.
It left the way open for just one instant. That brief interval served the purpose of the two heads of the gang of wharf-rats.
They leaped through the door, along the deck, and plunged together, headlong into the water.
A dozen revolvers cracked behind them but they did not stop.
Their flight seemed to act like a galvanic battery upon the others.
They also made a dash for the door. But the policemen headed them off. Then a fierce fight ensued, in which two of the thieves were killed and four were wounded.
Some of the officers suffered also, but none seriously.
Short as was the delay caused by the fight, it sufficed for the escape of Gentleman George and Red Rob.
The boats in which the robbers had reached the Nourhemal were easily overtaken, having only one man in each.
Their occupants were made prisoners, but there was no sign of the two ringleaders there, nor had the men seen aught of them.
The haul was a good one, but the root of the evil was not yet destroyed.
The men they wanted most had made good their escape.
Nick, who knew nothing of the information possessed by his young assistant, was grievously disappointed.
The moment that the officers made their presence known in the cabin, the detective realized that Chick had planned the thing while he was gone from the Rat-Hole, the preceding night.
“Chick,” he said, when they were guiding the police to the Rat-Hole, in order that the place might be destroyed, “we've got our work to do all over. We'll have to begin again.”
“Why?”
“Because we've got to run down Red Rob and Gentleman George.”
“True.”
“Besides, we are no nearer the steel casket, nor to the solution of Sara Varney's disappearance, than we were before.”
“I don't quite agree with you,” said Chick, quietly.
“Eh?”
“You are partially mistaken.”
“How so? Ah! You haven't told all you know, yet.”
“Not quite.”
“Well, keep it until we are alone. Time enough, then.”
The Rat-Hole was visited by the police, and there all the further evidence that could possibly be desired was found.
Then the place was thoroughly destroyed, so that it would never again answer for a refuge for thieves, after which the arrested men were taken to Raymond street jail.
“Now Chick, talk,” said Nick, as soon as they were alone.
“I know where the steel casket is concealed,” was the reply.
“Where?”
“In the—Hotel.”
“What! That is where George Hatfield stays when he's in town.”
“Precisely.”
Nick shook his head doubtfully. “I've changed my mind,” he said.
“About what?”
“About Gentleman George.”
“In what way?”
“I thought at first that he was George Hatfield, but I have gotten over that idea.”
“So have I,” quietly.
“Then what——”
“Nick, I overheard a conversation last night which opened my eyes to a good deal.”
“Evidently.”
“If I hadn't overheard what I did, we'd be floating face down in the river by this time.”
“Humph! So bad as that?”
“Yes.”
“Lucky you heard it, then.”
“Rather. I heard more, too.”
“Well, what?”
“Enough to convince me that Red Rob and George Hatfield are the same, and that he has the steel casket in his possession.”
“Red Rob is George Hatfield, eh?”
“Yes.”
“I began to suspect it. Who then is Gentleman George?”
CHAPTER X.
Mixed Identities.
As Nick asked the last question the two detectives arrived at the steps of the white building in Mulberry street, New York, which is known as “the central office.”
“Wait until we hear Barney's report,” said Chick. “I put him on the track instead of following the chief myself, when you sent me out night before last.”
“You have a suspicion who our man is, I see.”
“Yes.”
“Why not speak out?”
“I'd rather hear Barney first, if you don't object.”
“Afraid of making a mistake, eh?”
“Yes.”
“All right, lad, here we are.” Five minutes later they were in the office of the inspector.
The official congratulated them upon the success of the raid the preceding night, and ended by saying:
“However, Nick, you haven't found the steel casket yet?”
“No.”
“Do you think you will?”
“Sure to.”
“How soon?”
“Inside of twenty-four hours.”
“Indeed! That will be excellent. Mr. Gregory was here to-day. He hasn't been gone more than fifteen minutes, in fact.”
“Rather early for him, isn't it?” asked Chick, dryly.
“It is only just ten o'clock.”' “He is very anxious about the casket.”
“Anything new regarding it?”
“No, only he seemed more anxious than ever.”
“You told him I was searching for it?” asked Nick.
“Certainly. By the way,” turning to Chick, “have you given Nick any further information about Gregory?”
“Not much, sir. I'll make out a report embracing all I know concerning him, and give it to you.”
“I should be glad if you would.”
“I would like to see Barney,” continued the assistant.
“He's out on your orders. You sent for him, didn't you?”
“Yes.”
“He hasn't returned.”
Will you send him to me as soon as he shows up?” asked Nick, rising.
“Certainly.”
The two detectives were soon again in the street.
“Now, Chick,” said Nick, “you are placed where you've got to reveal your suspicions.”
“So I see.”
“Out with them.”
“Well, when I was listening to the conversation between Gentleman George and Red Rob one of the things that I discovered was that we had been recognized.”
“Well, which one tumbled?”
“Gentleman George.”
“He has probably seen me somewhere when without a disguise.”
“That's just the point.”
“What is?”
“He did not know you at all, except by implication.”
“Eh?”
“He knew me, and guessed who you were.”
“Oh!”
“In talking with Rob he said that he never forgot a face.”
“Yes.”
“And that he recognized 'the young cub' the moment he saw me, see?”
“'The young cub?' yes.”
“There isn't a man in all New York who would know me aside from yourself, Patsy, the inspector and the superintendent.”
“Well?”
“The only person who would stand a chance of recognizing my face because he never forgets one—which implies that he has not seen it in a long time—the only person who would be likely to speak of me as a 'young cub,' is one who saw me frequently when I was a boy in Nevada, and who always called me a 'young cub' in those days.”
“And that person is Jasper Gregory.”
“Certainly.”
“Good, lad; you've hit it. Only——”
“What?”
“Why all this fuss about the steel casket?”
“I think I've tumbled to that also.”
“Well, let's have it.”
“First, I think the casket contains the papers that would prove his villainy about the mining affair in Nevada, and perhaps would explain the fate of his partners.”
“Yes.”
“Second, he robbed his own yacht in order to lead not the public, but his own villains away from suspicion of who he really is.”
“Humph!”