Chapter L: Tricked

After Nick had said good night to Chick and Patsy, he set out to trace the men that had assaulted him on the ferryboat.

About two blocks from the entrance to the ferry, Nick saw a lumber wagon, which was covered with a sheet of tarpaulin, moving slowly up the street.

It took him but a few seconds to reach it, and as he did, he grasped one of the horses by the bridle and ordered the driver to stop his team.

The driver made a cut at Nick with his whip, and yelled that he would brain him if he did not let go of the horse.

“I think that you will stop until I have seen what your wagon contains,” said the detective.

“Who are you, that you should hold up my wagon?” demanded the driver angrily.

“I am an officer,” replied Nick.

“If you are an officer, then it is all right,” replied the driver. “I thought that you were one of the robbers that has been making things hot for the people around Astoria, and I did not want to take any chances.”

“What have you got in your wagon?”

“Oh, I have just got a load of boards that I am going to take up to Harlem.”

“I think that I had better look in the wagon, and see that valuable load that you are so careful not to lose.”

“I’ll be blowed if you do!” replied the man, making another slash at Nick with his whip.

Nick’s revolver was out in an instant, and he told the fellow that if he did not climb down off the seat that he would fill him full of lead.

The driver got down and stood to one side, while Nick made the examination of the load.

It was as the driver had said, and Nick was about to let the man go, when his trained eye caught sight of a piece of blue jean that had caught on a nail, evidently as the owner of the garment had been getting out of the wagon.

“Hello! What is this?” he said to himself. “It looks to me as if the wagon had been used to conceal the men when they had left me on the ferryboat. I guess that it would be a good plan to take this fellow to headquarters, where I can ask him a few questions.”

“What is your name?” asked Nick of the man.

“My name is John McDowell,” he answered.

“Now that I get a better look at your face, I think that you are Pat Dean, alias Pete Deck,” responded Nick.

“No, it ain’t.”

“Well, we can very easily tell when we reach police headquarters.”

“You don’t mean to say that you are going to arrest me?” asked the driver.

“That is about the size of it,” replied Nick.

“Well, I won’t go. You have no warrant for my arrest, and I defy you to take me to any station house.”

“I am going to take you to headquarters--alive, if possible; but I am going to take you there,” said Nick quietly.

The fellow saw that he had to deal with a man that would not stand any nonsense, and he got up on the box and drove as he was told.

As the wagon turned into Center Street, the man suddenly threw his arm around and tried to knock Nick off of the wagon.

Nick had been expecting something of the sort, and before the fellow knew it he had the handcuffs on him.

“A very neat trick, my good man,” said Nick; “but, you see that I was prepared for something of that kind, and I kept my eye on you.”

A moment later, and they were at the desk of the acting inspector.

The latter looked up and said:

“Why, here is my old friend Pete Deck!”

“I tell you that my name is John McDowell, and my name ain’t Deck.”

“We don’t often make mistakes here, and if I remember correctly, your number under the old system was 423.”