Chapter LII: Nick’s Life Saved

In vain did they try to get Deck to talk. Once that he had seen his pal Young he had somewhat recovered his courage, and he positively refused to answer any questions that were put to him.

After they had tried to get him to tell about the gang for an hour, Nick gave it up in disgust.

“Inspector, I feel hungry, and think that I will get a bite to eat before I turn in for the night,” said Nick, as he left headquarters.

“There is no doubt in my mind that Deck knows all about that gang, but when he saw Young, he was either frightened stiff or his feeling was that of the average tough who wants to appear game in the eyes of his fellows,” muttered Nick, as he walked up the street to a restaurant near his home.

The restaurant was one that served a good dinner at a moderate figure, and there one met the different celebrities of the day--lawyers, brokers, newspaper men, actors, and the light-fingered gentry all rubbed elbows in this strictly bohemian resort.

As Nick passed through the barroom his attention was attracted to a table at which were seated four men.

The features of one of the men were familiar to Nick, but the hair did not appear to be in keeping with the rest of the man’s make-up.

“I will watch those men when I go out and see who they are. I don’t like their looks,” said Nick to himself as he took his seat.

Nick had hardly begun his supper, when a young man strolled in and took a seat at Nick’s table.

He was a young newspaper man on one of the great dailies, and was a warm friend of Nick’s. The young fellow had been all over the world, and whenever Nick and he got together they sat down and exchanged reminiscences.

They lingered over their coffee and cigars, and when the young newspaper man said good night to Nick it was long past midnight.

Nick took his departure shortly after.

The four men, who had been drinking wine all the time that Nick and his friend had been talking, got up and left the place as soon as the detective went out the door.

Glancing up and down the street, they saw Nick going toward his home. They followed, skulking in and out of doorways.

The young journalist, who had forgotten his cane, was returning to the restaurant, when he saw the suspicious actions of the men. He dodged back into a doorway until he saw that they were really following Nick.

As Nick reached the corner, he saw two patrolmen that he knew. He spoke to them for a minute, and then turned the corner to go to the house where he lived.

The reporter, who was acquainted with the officers, ran over and hastily explained the situation to them.

They at once went around the square, where they could head off the men when they got near Nick’s house.

Nick Carter, walking along the street busily engaged in thinking over the events of the day, did not for an instant suspect that he was being followed.

Nick stopped to relight his cigar, when the four rascals jumped upon him.

Nick barely had time to turn and avoid a blow that had been aimed at him by the man that he had noticed in the café.

The man, with an oath, started to strike again, when the sharp crack of a pistol rang out in the night air.

The man fell to the sidewalk, with a scream of agony.

The policemen rushed up and attacked the remaining three men with their nightsticks.

Two of the men took to their heels, and made their escape; the other man was captured, and made a prisoner by the officers, while the reporter turned in a call for the ambulance, that the injured man might be removed to the hospital.

Nick bent over the wounded man. He noticed that the hair which he wore was false. Pulling it off, he saw that the man that had tried to kill him was the very man that he had been looking for.

It was Billy Young.

The other fellow that had been captured was also wanted. He was Hall, the leader of the gang of outlaws that had attacked Nick in front of the repair shop kept by Jack Weeden.

When the ambulance arrived, the surgeon in charge saw the man who had been shot was mortally wounded, and could not live over five minutes.

Nick knelt down by the side of the man, who had now recovered consciousness.

Young looked up and smiled.

“I guess that you hold the winning hand, Nick Carter,” he said. “I tried my best to do you, and would have succeeded if that fool reporter had not been so good with his gun play. You have won a good fight, and I give you credit.”

“Young, you are dying! Why don’t you tell me what you know about Jack Weeden and that gang? It may help to atone for the crimes that you have committed in this world,” said Nick quietly.

“I never yet have squealed, and I don’t intend to begin now,” was the answer of the dying man. “I would tell you if I ever told anybody, as you are the gamest and squarest man in the business, but I can’t die a squealer. I--I----”

With a gasp, his head rolled to one side, and the man who had helped to kill Tom Sweet was dead.

The policemen took their prisoner to the station house, where he was held on the charge of attempted murder.

The body of Billy Young was removed to the morgue.