ime," continued Nick, smiling, "since we have this
letter and know what she is about to do, I think we will meet her
halfway, and not wait for her to open the ball. Since she is at liberty,
we will set about capturing her at once."

CHAPTER XIX.

THE BAND OF HATRED.

Down on the East Side of New York, in Rivington Street, and some
distance east of the Bowery, on the second floor of one of the oldest
buildings in the city, a remarkable meeting was being held during the
night that followed the receipt of Madge's letter by Nick Carter.

In a room on this floor, which was brilliantly lighted by four gas jets
blazing from the chandelier, nine people were seated. They were gathered
along two sides of the room, in which was a centre table, and behind
this table was Black Madge.

Before her on the table were various sheets of letter paper, which she
had turned from a pad one after another as she made notes upon them, and
in her hand she held a pencil which ever and anon flew rapidly over the
paper while she recorded such information concerning those who were
present with her as she cared to remember.

They had been present in that room for upward of an hour, and during
that time Madge had questioned each one of the eight who faced her
concerning the statements they had made, and which she had noted.

Now she leaned back in her chair, and, holding one of the sheets of
paper in her hand, she said:

"Stand up, Scar-faced Johnny, and answer the questions I shall ask you."

One of them, a short, stocky, red-headed, brutalized being, who was
almost as broad as he was long, leaped to his feet, thrust his hands
deeply into his pockets, and with his chin stuck forward aggressively,
waited.

"You hate Nick Carter, do you, Johnny?" Madge asked.

"I hate him like poison."

"And you would kill him if you could?"

"I'd cut his throat in half a minute if I was sure of not being caught."

"Tell me again why you hate him so."

"Ain't he sent me twice to prison? Once for four years and once for
three. And the last time he done it didn't he hand me a welt alongside
of the jaw that I'll never forget? A man can't hit me like that and have
me love him afterward. You just show me the way to do it, Black Madge,
and I'll lay him out cold--so cold that he'll never get over it again.
All I want is a chance."

"All right," said Madge, "take your seat.

"Now, Slippery Al, you stand up. What's your line of graft, Slippery?"

S