"I guess we have missed nothing here," nodded Nick. "I'll have just a word with Fogarty, and then we'll go along."

"What do you make of it, Detective Carter?" inquired the officer, as Nick approached.

"I am not prepared to say," replied Nick, ignoring the startled glances of the several men who heard his name and now beheld the great detective for the first time.

"The girl is dead, sir, isn't she?"

"Oh, yes; there is no doubt of that," bowed Nick. "It may be a case of heart failure. You had better take the proper steps for the removal of the body. This box and wrapping paper, however, I am going to take with me, and will be responsible for them."

"All right, sir."

"By the way, Fogarty, how long ago did you discover the body?"

"Scarce a minute before you came, sir."

"Were you the first to see it?"

"I was, sir."

"Had you seen the girl about here before during the afternoon?"

"No, sir."

"Did you see anybody leaving here just before you arrived and discovered the body?"

"I did not, sir."

"That's all, Fogarty. I'll get any other particulars later."

Thereupon, as Nick was about to turn away, a young man in the crowd came suddenly forth, and exclaimed:

"One moment, Detective Carter, if you please! I saw that girl, about half an hour ago, walking this way with a gentleman."

Nick turned abruptly to the speaker.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Tom Jenkins, sir."

"And your address?"

"I live at the Hotel North, and am employed by Hentz Brothers, in Broad Street."

"You say that you saw the girl walking this way with a gentleman?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did they appear to be on good terms?"

"Excellent, sir. They were talking and laughing, and seemed to be enjoying themselves."

"Do you know the girl's name, or where she lives?"

"I do not, sir; nor anything about her."

"Do you know anything about her companion, the gentleman you saw with her?"

For the bare fraction of a second Jenkins hesitated, as one might do who was loath to bring trouble upon another. Then he replied, in faltering tones:

"Well, yes, sir, I know the name of the man who was with her."

"State it, please."

"His name, sir, is Harry Boyden."

Nick felt his blood start slightly, yet his countenance did not change by so much as a shadow.

He glanced at Chick, however, and the same thought was in the mind of each.

"Harry Boyden! The clerk employed by Thomas Hafferman, the dealer in diamonds!"



CHAPTER IX.

NICK STRIKES A STARTLING CLEW.

The mind of Nick Carter was, as he had remarked to Chick, stirred with a flood of questions not easily or quickly answered.

Who was this girl found dead in Central Park?

Had she, indeed, been foully murdered? If so, by what mysterious means? What had been the object? Who the perpetrator of the crime?

Or, on the other hand, was the evidence itself misleading, and had the unfortunate girl selected that sequestered seat in the park, and there deliberately committed suicide? Even then, by what means had the deed been accomplished? What had been the occasion?

What, moreover, had become of her companion at just that time? Why had he deserted her? What signified the pin-punctured wrapping paper, and the empty jewel casket, in the dead girl's possession?

Had the casket contained jewels of great value? Had the girl been robbed of them, and then foully murdered in some mysterious way?

Was Harry Boyden, the clerk employed by Hafferman, the last to leave the girl that fateful afternoon? Was he responsible for her death? Was robbery the incentive to the crime?

Or, on the other hand, had Boyden left the girl alive and well, and was the crime the work of another?

Or, finally, was there some strange and startling connection between this park murder and the robbery committed at Venner's store? Was there, between the two crimes, some extraordinary bond yet to be discovered—some tie uniting the two misdeeds as if with links of steel?

These were some of the conflicting questions that occurred to Nick Carter that afternoon, and in order to consider them before taking any decided action in the matter, Nick had kept to himself his startling discoveries, and left Officer Fogarty to take the customary steps in the affair.

At seven o'clock that evening, while Nick and Chick were seated at dinner, and still engaged in discussing the conflicting circumstances, a message was received from police headquarters, informing Nick that the girl had been identified, and that Harry Boyden had been found and arrested.

"Very good," observed Nick. "We shall now get something to work upon. I will go and question Boyden as soon as I finish my dinner."

"By all means," nodded Chick.

"Do you know," said Nick, "I am seriously impressed that there is some strange connection between this girl's death and that robbery at Venner's store. I believe that we have struck the very clew, or are about to strike it, that we so long have been vainly seeking."

"To the Kilgore gang?"

"Exactly."

"Egad, I hope so," laughed Chick, with a grimace. "I am beastly tired of nosing about on a scentless trail."

Nick joined in the laugh of his invariably cheerful associate.

"Odds blood, Nick, as they say in the play," added Chick. "I'd welcome any sort of stir and danger, in preference to this chasing a will-o'-the-wisp."

"There'll be enough doing, Chick, take my word for it, as soon as we once more get on the track of Kilgore and his push."

"Let it come, and God speed it," grinned Chick. "What's your idea, Nick?"

"This empty jewel casket, the possibility that it contained diamonds, of which the girl was robbed and then murdered, and the fact that Harry Boyden is the clerk who brought the stolen diamonds to Venner's store—certainly the circumstances seem to point to some strange relation between the two crimes."

While Nick was thus expressing his views, a rapidly driven carriage approached the residence of the famous detective, and a servant presently entered the dining room and informed Nick that a lady wished to see him.

Nick glanced at her card.

"Violet Page," he muttered. "I know no lady named Violet Page. Is she young or old?"

"Young, sir."

"Did you admit her?"

"She is in the library, sir."

"Very well. I will see her presently. Request her to wait a few moments."

Nick delayed only to finish his dinner, then repaired to the library. As he entered the attractively furnished room his visitor quickly arose from one of the easy-chairs and hastened to approach him.

Nick beheld a young lady of exquisite beauty and modest bearing, and though her sweet face, then very pale and distressed, struck him as one he had previously seen, he at first could not place her.

"Are you Mr. Carter—Detective Carter?" she hurriedly, inquired, in tremulous accents of appeal.

Nick had a warm place in his heart for one so timid and distressed as this girl appeared, and he bowed very kindly.

"Yes, Miss Page," said he. "What can I do for you? You appear to be in trouble."

"I am in trouble—terrible trouble, sir," cried the girl, with a half-choked sob. "Oh, Mr. Carter, I come to you in despair, a girl without friends or advisers, and who knows not whither to turn. I have been told that you have a kind heart, and that you are the one man able to solve the dreadful mystery which—"

Nick cheered her pathetic flood of words with a kindly gesture.

"Calm yourself, Miss Page," said he, in a sort of paternal way. "Resume your chair, please. Though I am somewhat pressed for time just now I will give you at least a few moments."

"Oh, thank you, sir!"

"Be calm, however, in order that we may accomplish all the more."

"I will, sir."

"To what mystery do you refer? What is the occasion of your terrible distress?"

Violet Page subdued her agitation and hastened to reply.

"My maid and companion, a girl named Mary Barton," said she, "was found dead in Central Park late this afternoon. Nor is that all, Detective Carter. A very dear friend of mine, named Harry Boyden, has been arrested, under suspicion of having killed her. Oh, sir, that could not be possible!"

Nick felt an immediate increase of interest.

He decided that Miss Violet Page was the very person he wanted to interview, and while he did not then exhibit any knowledge of the case, he proceeded to question her with his own ends in view, at the same time ringing a signal for Chick to join him, which the latter presently did.

"Where do you live, Miss Page?" inquired Nick.

"I board in Forty-second Street, sir. I have no living relatives, and for about two years have employed a maid, or, I might better call her, a companion."

"The girl mentioned?"

"Yes, sir. Her parents also are dead. The fact that we both are orphans created a bond of sympathy between us."

"Are you a person of much means, Miss Page?"

"Oh, no, sir. I earn my living on the stage. I was a member of the big vaudeville troupe, which lately disbanded for the season. My stage name is Violet Marduke."

"Ah! now I remember," remarked Nick. "I thought I had seen you before. I happened to hear you sing one evening about two weeks ago."

"I recognized her when I entered," observed Chick, who had taken a chair near by.

Nick came back to business.

"Why are you so confident, Miss Page, that Boyden cannot have killed Mary Barton?" he demanded.

"Because, sir, Harry Boyden is a gentle, brave and honest man, and utterly incapable of committing such a crime," cried Violet, with much feeling. "Besides, sir, he can have had no possible reason for wishing her dead."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Absolutely!"

"What are your relations with Boyden?"

"We are lovers, sir," admitted Violet, with a tinge of red dispelling the paleness of her pretty cheeks. "We expect to be married the coming summer."

"Ah! I see," murmured Nick, thoughtfully. "How long have you been acquainted with Boyden?"

"For ten years, sir."

"Then you have been able to form quite a reliable opinion of his character."

"Indeed, sir, I have!" cried Violet, warmly. "Detective Carter, I know that Harry Boyden is far above any dishonorable action. I would trust him with my life."

Of the honesty of the girl herself Nick had not a doubt. It showed in her eyes, sounded in her voice, and was pictured in her ever changing expression. Nick was inclined to feel that her opinion of Boyden was worthy of very serious consideration, despite that circumstances seemed to implicate the young man in no less than two crimes.

"Is the fact that you are engaged to Boyden generally known, Miss Page?" Nick next asked.

"It is not, sir. We have said nothing about it."

"Ah, that opens the way for conjectures," cried Nick. "Is there any person who knows of the engagement, or who suspects it, that would jealously aim to injure Boyden by implicating him in a crime?"

"Oh, I cannot think so, sir!" said Violet, with a look of horror. "I certainly know of no such person."

"Have you been accepting the attentions of any other young man?"

"No, sir," smiled Violet. "That is not my style."

"I am glad to hear you say so, yet I really might have known it," laughed Nick.

"Thank you, Detective Carter," bowed the girl, blushing warmly. Then she hastened to add: "Still, I am not a prude, sir—don't think I mean that. In my profession one is obliged to be on friendly terms with a great many persons, both men and women. At the theater, for instance, I meet many men and form many acquaintances, both agreeable and the reverse."

"And sometimes have the attentions of men fairly forced upon you, I imagine?" said Nick, inquiringly, with a brighter gleam lighting his earnest eyes.

"Yes, sir; sometimes," Violet demurely admitted.

Nick drew forward in his chair, and Chick saw that he had caught up the thread at that moment suggested to himself.

"Miss Page," said Nick, more impressively, "I now want you to answer me without the slightest reserve."

"I will, sir," bowed Violet, with a startled look.

"Has any man of the late vaudeville company, or one connected with the theater, endeavored to force his love upon you?"

"No, sir; not one."

"Or any visitor admitted to the stage?"

"Well—yes, sir," faltered Violet, quite timidly. "Since you press me thus gravely, I must admit that I have been obliged to repel the affection of a certain man. Yet, please don't infer, sir, that he has ever been ungentlemanly. He even has done me the honor, if one can so term an undesired proposal, to protest that he wished to make me his wife."

"What is that man's name?" demanded Nick, quite bluntly.

Yet both Nick and Chick already anticipated it.

"Must I tell you his name, sir?" faltered Violet.

"You may do so confidentially, Miss Page."

"His name, sir, is Rufus Venner."

"One more question, Miss Page," cried Nick, quickly, "Was there any member of the vaudeville company who knew of Venner's proposal?"

"I don't think so, sir. At least I know of none."

Nick glanced at Chick and dryly remarked:

"All under the surface, Chick."

"Not a doubt of it, Nick."

Violet looked surprised and alarmed at this, and hastened to ask:

"Oh, Mr. Carter, is there something of which I am ignorant? Or have I done wrong in any way?"

Nick turned to her and gravely answered:

"No, Miss Page, you have done nothing wrong—far from it! But there is considerable of which you are ignorant."

"Oh, sir, what do you mean?"

"Wait just one moment, and I then may be able to tell you," said Nick, rising. "I have something here that I wish to show you."

He went to his library desk and took from a drawer the silver jewel casket which he had brought from Central Park.

When he turned he held it in his extended hand, and the eyes of the girl suddenly fell upon it.

Instantly she leaped to her feet, as pale as death itself.

Then a scream, as of sudden, ungovernable terror, rose from her lips and rang with piercing shrillness through the house.

"Catch her, Chick—she's fainting!" yelled Nick, with eyes ablaze. "By Heaven! we've struck the trail at last!"



CHAPTER X.

ON THE TRAIL.

Nick Carter was a little perplexed.

Miss Violet Page had recovered from her sudden swoon, and although still very pale she sat gazing calmly at the silver jewel casket, which Nick was again displaying.

Somewhat to Nick's surprise, considering the girl's abrupt collapse upon first beholding the casket, Miss Page had just declared that she had never seen it before that evening.

"You never saw it before?" exclaimed Nick, almost incredulously.

"Never until you produced it from your desk a few minutes ago," reiterated Violet.

"Why, then, were you so overcome upon seeing it?"

"I will tell you why, Detective Carter, yet I fear that you will think me very weak and foolish to have been so seriously affected."

"No; I think not."

"I had a terrible dream last night, sir," Violet now explained. "I dreamed that I was alone in an enormous graveyard at midnight, with a full moon revealing the dismal surroundings, the dark tombs, the staring, white headstones and the silent graves."

"Not very cheerful—certainly," smiled Nick.

"What followed was infinitely more terrible," continued Violet, with an irrepressible shudder.

"What was that?"

"I dreamed that I saw a grave near which I was standing suddenly begin to open, as if a living being were pushing up the ground from within. Then I saw a fleshless hand appear above the disturbed sods. Then a sightless human skull thrust itself forth, and presently, filling me with a terror I cannot describe, the entire skeleton emerged from the partly open grave, and arose and approached me."

"A grewsome dream, indeed," remarked Nick. "But what of the casket?"

"This of the casket, sir," concluded Violet. "In the skeleton's right hand, which was extended straight toward me while he approached, was a silver box—the exact likeness of the one you hold, and which you so abruptly showed me a short time ago."

"Ah, I see," nodded Nick.

"In my present nervous condition, Detective Carter, the sight of the real casket, after so horrible a dream, was more than I could sustain. Fairly before I knew it, I had fainted."

"A curious dream and a startling sequence," said Nick. "Evidently coming events have been casting their shadows before. I am sorry to have shocked you so severely."

"Pray don't speak of it, Mr. Carter," protested Violet. "I am now quite recovered."

"Then we will at once proceed to business again," said Nick. "Am I to infer, Miss Page, that you know nothing at all about this casket?"

"Absolutely nothing, sir," declared Violet.

"Have you ever heard your maid, Mary Barton, speak of possessing such a jewel box?"

"Never, sir."

"Nevertheless," said Nick, pointedly, "this casket was found beside her dead body in Central Park this afternoon."

A half-suppressed cry broke from Violet upon hearing this.

"Oh, sir, then that must have been the package mentioned by Harry Boyden," she cried, excitedly.

"What's that?" demanded Nick. "Have you seen Boyden since his arrest?"

"Yes, sir."

"When and where?"

"He was arrested at my home about half-past six, sir. When I learned for what and heard the particulars, I was advised by my landlady to appeal at once to you."

"Did you come directly here?"

"I did, sir; as fast as a carriage could bring me."

"Ah, now we shall get at it," declared Nick. "Tell me, Miss Page, just what Boyden said about Mary Barton."

"Why, sir, he said he left her alive and well about half-past five."

"Where?"

"On her way through the park," replied Violet. "He had met her about five o'clock, and they walked about in the park for a short time. Then he told her that he had an errand to do, after which he was coming to call upon me. Then Mary laughed and replied that she would see him later."

"That doesn't smack very strongly of suicide, Chick," remarked Nick, with a glance at the former.

"I should say not," replied Chick, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Did Boyden know where Mary went after he left her?" inquired Nick, reverting to his visitor.

"No, sir. He declared to the officer that he did not."

"What mention did he make of a package carried by the girl?"

"He stated that Mary had what appeared to be a small, square box, done up in brown wrapping paper, and secured with a string."

"Did he make any inquiries about it?"

"He asked her what it was, and she told him it was for me."

"Did she tell him where she got it?"

"Yes, sir, she did; and I am quite mystified by it."

"Please explain," said Nick. "What did the Barton girl say about the parcel?"

"She said it was given to her by a woman whom she had met on Fifth Avenue a short time before."

"An acquaintance?"

"No, sir; a strange woman," continued Violet. "Yet the stranger must have known Mary, and that she lived with me, for she asked her if I was at home."

"And then?"

"When told that I was, she gave Mary the package and asked her to deliver it to me, into my hands only, as it was a gift from a friend."

"Was the name of the friend mentioned?"

"I think not, sir. The woman cautioned Mary against opening the package, stating in explanation that she wished me to be the first to see what it contained."

"These are the facts which Mary Barton told to Harry Boyden, are they?" demanded Nick, with an ominous ring stealing into his voice.

"Yes, sir, they are."

"And the statements which Boyden, in turn, made to the officer by whom he was arrested at your home?"

"That is right, sir. I heard them from Harry's own lips."

"Did Mary Barton have any idea of the identity of the woman from whom she received the package?"

"I think not, sir. She told Harry that the woman was veiled, and that she could not see her face. The incident seemed so strange, sir, that Mary gave Harry Boyden all of these particulars."

"Did she describe the strange woman, her form or her attire?"

"I think she stated that the woman was plainly clad. Nothing more definite that I know of."

"In fact, Miss Page, you have now told me all that you know about the case, haven't you?"

"Really, sir, I think I have," admitted Violet, with a look of anxious appeal.

Nick drew out his watch and glanced quickly at it.

"Ring for a carriage, Chick," said he abruptly. "We have no time to lose."

"I'll call one at once," nodded Chick, as he sprang up and hastened from the room.

"Am I to depart now, Detective Carter?" asked Violet, beginning to tremble. "Oh, sir, will you not give me some word of encouragement before I go? I am sure that Harry Boyden never committed—"

"Hush!" interposed Nick, rising and taking her kindly by the hand.

"I cannot at present tell you, Miss Page, what I think of this case. I will say this, however, if Harry Boyden is, as you so firmly believe, innocent of this crime, I will not rest until I have proved him guiltless."

"Oh, Detective Carter, how am I to thank you?" cried the girl, with her tearful eyes raised to Nick's kindly face.

"By not trying to do so," said he, smiling. "And by carefully following a few directions which I shall now give you."

"I will follow them to the very letter, sir," cried the grateful girl.

"First, then, go home and borrow no further trouble about young Boyden," said Nick, impressively. "Second, disclose to no person that you have called upon me, or that I have any interest in the case. Third, say nothing about the jewel casket, and display no personal knowledge of the affair. Fourth, do not come here again unless I send for you. And, finally, rest assured that I will do all in my power to have young Boyden at liberty as soon as possible. To remain in custody a short time, however, will not seriously harm him, and in a way it may do me some service. Can you remember all that?"

"Indeed I can, sir; and I will obey you in all!" cried Violet, with much feeling.

"That's right," smiled Nick, as he escorted her to the door. "You shall not lose anything by so doing."

"Ah, I am sure of that, sir. You are so very kind, and I am so glad that I came to you."

"Well, well, we shall see," laughed Nick, with a paternal caress of her shapely white hand. "By the way, Miss Page, since I now happen to think of it," the crafty detective indifferently added, "wasn't there a Hindoo juggler, or snake charmer, or something of that sort, connected with your late vaudeville company?"

"Oh, yes, sir! Pandu Singe."

"Ah, that is his name, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is he still in the city?"

"I am not sure, Mr. Carter; but I think that he may be, for he is signed with the company for next season."

"Do you know where he has been living?"

"Yes, sir. I have seen his house address on letters forwarded to the theater. Do you want it, sir?"

"If you can recall it, yes," smiled Nick, producing his notebook. "I am making a study of the Hindoo language just at this time, and I would like to consult Pandu Singe about certain books on the subject."

Miss Page did not suspect any duplicity in this, and she cheerfully gave Nick the address of the snake charmer, whereupon the detective graciously thanked her, and then escorted her to her waiting carriage.

As it rolled rapidly away a second hack came bowling up to the curbstone in front of Nick's residence. It was the carriage for which Chick had sent a call.

"Don't cover your horses, cabbie!" cried Nick, sharply. "Wait about three minutes, and we'll be with you."

"Right, sir!"

And Nick dashed back up the steps and into the house, meeting Chick in the hall.

"What do you make of it, Nick?"

"Make of it?" cried Nick, with a laugh. "It's a cinch, Chick, dead open and shut. Grab your hat and come with me. I'll explain in the carriage."

"Good enough! I'm with you, old man!"

"And we have no time to lose," cried Nick, "Now, then, we're off."



CHAPTER XI.

THE CRIME AND THE MEANS.

"Yes, Chick, it's as simple as two plus two, and we'll presently try to bag a part of our quarry. But first of all, I want a bit of corroborative evidence which I expect to get from that Hindoo snake charmer, Pandu Singe."

"Going there first, Nick?"

"Yes; it will not take long. Then I think we shall have the strands for a rope strong enough to hold that she-devil who murdered Mary Barton," grimly added Nick.

These remarks were made while the carriage containing the two detectives was speeding through the city streets, then bright with the light and life of the early evening.

"What a dastardly crime it was, Nick," observed Chick.

"It was the crime of a treacherous demon."

"With jealousy the chief motive, eh?"

"No doubt of it."

"Yet her venomous arrow found the wrong mark."

"That's just the size of it," said Nick. "In the light of what you saw and heard on the stage that night, it is plain that Cervera is passionately in love with Venner."

"Surely."

"You remember that you saw him talking with Violet Page, and then observed Cervera in the opposite wings, angrily watching something or somebody out of your range of view. Plainly enough, now, she was watching Venner and the singer."

"No doubt of it," declared Chick. "And she looked fit to use a poniard then and there."

"Jealousy," growled Nick. "She had been secretly watching Venner. She had discovered his love for Violet, and decided that the girl was a rival to be feared. Her fiery Spanish blood would shrink at nothing. She went the limit, and tried to murder her rival. In so doing, however, she but killed another."

"She must have worked adroitly to have accomplished what she did."

"It may not have been so very difficult," replied Nick. "She was on the stage each night, and also that infernal snake den. She quietly learned which of the venomous reptiles would best serve her deadly purpose, and then found an opportunity and a way by which to secretly steal it."

"A hazardous job at that," muttered Chick.

"The jealousy of such a woman fears nothing," Nick rejoined. "To lure the desired snake into a box, and then take it home and confine it in the jewel casket, may have been done quite easily."

"It must have been done before the company closed its engagement."

"No doubt," admitted Nick. "Then Cervera was too crafty to use it at once. She waited nearly a week. Then she dressed herself in cheap attire, put on a thick veil, and lay in wait for her rival's maid and companion, to whom she gave the package and her instructions regarding it."

"What first led you to suspect the crime and the means, Nick?" inquired Chick, curiously.

"Several facts," explained Nick. "The girl's sudden death seemed peculiar. The jewel casket beside her was empty, at once suggesting that something had been removed or fallen from it. Yet nothing was to be found."

"That's true."

"The paper wrapper was punctured with a pin in many places, the holes running even through the lining of the casket. That fact, too, was suggestive. People are not in the habit of doing up parcels and then punching them full of holes with a pin."

"Well, hardly."

"Cervera made those holes, Chick, in order that her venomous captive might not expire for want of air."

"No doubt of it, Nick. But what do you think led Mary Barton to open the package after having been told not to do so?"

"Curiosity, perhaps," replied Nick. "Or possibly she considered the circumstances to be so strange that she felt that she had a right to open it. Be that as it may, it is plain that Mary Barton sat down on the park seat, after leaving Boyden and there briefly considered the matter."

"How do you arrive at that deduction, Nick?"

"From the tiny tinge of fresh blood about one of the pinholes on the interior of the lining," explained Nick. "The stain must have come from the point of the pin, and when the pin was drawn out of the box, not when it was thrust into it. In the latter case the pin point would have been cleansed before passing through the lining, and the stain would have been on the outside rather than the inside."

"Surely."

"Then it at once became plain that Mary Barton, while sitting there, had thrust her hat pin through one of the previously made apertures, possibly aiming to discover in this way what the box contained, and in so doing she probably pricked the confined reptile."

"Ah, I see," nodded Chick. "All this strongly indicated that something might have been confined in the casket."

"Yes, certainly. Not thus learning what the box contained," continued Nick, "Mary Barton decided to open it. The moment she raised the lid the snake, probably angered by its wound and long confinement, instantly struck at her hand, snake-fashion, and buried its fangs in her wrist."

"Hence the tiny, red spot which you so quickly discovered."

"Precisely."

"Very shrewd of you, Nick."

"Greatly frightened, the girl probably fainted, and fell to the ground," added Nick, in conclusion of the deductions by which he had solved the remarkable mystery. "The snake instantly scurried away through the grass, and left no trail behind him. Before the girl could recover from her swoon, the deadly poison had done its work. The venom of some of these India snakes is horribly rapid in its action."

"That's true," cried Chick. "I saw one at the theater that evening, the venom of which would kill a man in ten seconds. A wee bit of a cuss at that."

"Probably this was one of the same breed," said Nick, grimly. "At all events, I am sure that murder was the crime, and a snake the means."

"And Sanetta Cervera the criminal."

"Beyond the shadow of a doubt," declared Nick.

"And what do you expect to learn from the Hindoo?"

"I wish to know, in corroboration of my suspicions, whether Pandu Singe has missed any of his infernal reptiles."

"Ah, I see."

"If he has, my theory is surely correct, and we next must fix the guilt upon the guilty," said Nick, firmly. "I shall arrest Cervera this very night, providing the Hindoo informs me that— Ah, here we are at his door. Come into the house with me, Chick, and we'll see what he has to say."

They had stopped before an ordinary brick house on the East Side, and Nick quickly mounted the steps and rang the bell. The summons brought a corpulent English woman to the door, from whom Nick learned that the Hindoo and his interpreter were still there.

"Doesn't Pandu Singe speak English?" inquired Nick.

"Dear me, no!" exclaimed the landlady, with a mute yet visible laugh—visible in that her convolutions of flesh became observably agitated. "Not the first word, sir. He talks only a blooming jargon fit for snakes and spiders and that like."

Nick laughed agreeably, having a request on his tongue's end.

"He has moved his beastly den o' reptiles into my cellar to stay till next season, sir, a 'orror I'd not stand for a minute, so I wouldn't, only he pays me very 'andsome for the same."

"Then he intends remaining here all summer, does he?"

"He do," replied the woman, with startling terseness after the foregoing.

"I wish to see him briefly on business," said Nick. "Go and ask him if he will receive us."

The landlady complied, returning presently and inviting the two detectives into the house. She led the way to a rear room off the hall, at the door of which stood a swarthy foreigner, who bowed and smiled as the callers approached.

"'E's the hinterpreter," vouchsafed the landlady, in a wheezy whisper.

Nick nodded understandingly.

Reading by the light of a lamp on a table in the room sat the Hindoo snake charmer himself, clad in a rich, loose robe of Oriental fashion. He arose with much deliberation and dignity when the detectives entered, and gravely bowed in greeting, while his interpreter hastened to place chairs for the visitors.

Through the interpreter Nick quickly explained his business, and saw a look of surprise appear on the face of Pandu Singe when inquiries were made about the loss of a snake.

It took Nick but a short time to learn what he desired. Precisely as he expected, the Hindoo had missed one of his snakes about ten days before, one of the most venomous and dangerous of the lot.

Hearing no reports or complaints about the missing reptile, however, Pandu Singe had come to the conclusion that the snake had died in the den and then been devoured by one of his companions in captivity. So the Hindoo had let the matter drop, and had said nothing about it.

Nick did not disclose the true occasion for his inquiries, but invented a satisfactory explanation, and at the end of a quarter of an hour the two detectives departed and entered their waiting carriage.

"Rather a dignified chap, after all, that Pandu Singe," laughed Chick, as they settled themselves on the cushions.

"True," admitted Nick, thoughtfully. "Do you think, Chick, that we could make up to pass for those two swarthy Orientals?"

"Could we!" exclaimed Chick, promptly. "Well, Nick, I should say that we could."

"I think so, too."

"You could do the snake charmer, all right, and easily gabble a lingo that would pass for his."

"Well, rather," laughed Nick.

"And if I was wise to the game you wished to play I easily could act as the interpreter, and run the conversation correctly on my own hook."

"No doubt of it."

"Do it? Why, surely we could," repeated Chick "Why did you ask?"

"I think it may yet become necessary or desirable to make a move of that kind," replied Nick.

"Why so?"

"Because, as I have suspected all along, I still think there is some big game in the wind, with the Kilgore gang back of it, and that the murder of this Barton girl may have some connection with it, or at least give us a clew to it."

"Egad! I hope so, Nick."

"We soon shall see."

"Going after Cervera now?"

"Yes; at once," said Nick, with grim austerity. "We shall find her at home, as usual. She'll not imagine that I can have got on her track as quickly as this, so no doubt I can easily land her. Before midnight I want bracelets on the white wrists of that Spanish dare-devil."



CHAPTER XII.

CLOSING IN.

There was, indeed, as Nick Carter shrewdly suspected, a mysterious bond between the several crimes thus far engaging his attention, and the secret operations for which David Kilgore and his gang had ventured into the city of New York.

Nick had remarked, however, that the game would become as hazardous and stirring as one could desire, as soon as it was fairly driven from cover.

And Nick began to drive it from cover that very night.

Shortly before nine o'clock, and just as the two detectives were parting from the Hindoo snake charmer, Mr. Rufus Venner rang the bell at the door of Cervera's uptown residence.

It was answered by Cervera herself, much to Venner's surprise.

"Where's the butler to-night?" he abruptly demanded, as he entered and closed the door.

"Gone," said Cervera, curtly.

"Gone?"

"I've sacked him along with all the rest."

"Not discharged all of your servants?"

"Nothing less."

"But why?" demanded Venner, with a frown settling about his dark eyes. "You cannot remain here alone."

"I don't intend to."

"But what are you going to do? When are you going?"

While thus speaking they had repaired to the library at the rear of the house, the room in which Nick had encountered the gang nearly a fortnight before. It was the only room then lighted. Even the hall through which they had passed was in darkness.

Yet Cervera was dressed in an elaborate evening gown, fitted close to her lithe, nervous figure, and augmenting in a marked degree her dangerous, dark beauty.

"You know where I am going—or should!" she replied, facing Venner, with an odd smile on her red lips.

"Not to the diamond plant?" cried he, with a start.

"To the diamond plant—yes!"

"Impossible!"

"You will find it's not impossible, Rufe," she retorted. "I generally go where I wish, and do what I undertake. I have already sent my own jewels and other valuables there by Pylotte. He was here this morning."

"But consider, Sanetta," protested Venner, with a darker frown. "Think of what chances you are taking."

"Of what?"

"Suppose Nick Carter suspects you, and has a shadow on your movements—"

"Bah!" interrupted Cervera, with a snap and flash of her black eyes. "I care nothing for Nick Carter. Caramba! do you think I fear him? I will fool and foil Nick Carter as I have fooled and foiled his betters. I shall go to the plant to-morrow, and that settles it."

"Stop a bit," insisted Venner, almost angrily. "Do you forget that Kilgore and all his gang are there? Do you forget that we are just about launching our gigantic enterprise? We now have nearly a million dollars' worth of diamonds manufactured, or in the process of making, and I already have begun to distribute them on the market at a fabulous profit."

"Well, I know all that. What has it to do with my going there?"

"Such a move on your part may give Carter a clew to our location," declared Venner.

"Oh, no, it won't," sneered Cervera, scornfully. "I'll look out for that."

"Discovery would ruin all, and possibly land the whole gang behind prison bars."

"Faugh! I'm as well at the plant as here, and there I am going. You let me alone to evade the Carters."

"But why in thunder are you so determined to make this change?" demanded Venner.

An amorous fire came stealing into the woman's resolute eyes, and she shrugged her shapely shoulders significantly.

"You should know why without asking," she slowly answered, with her gaze fixed upon his changing countenance. "It is because I love you, Rufe, and wish to be where you spend so much of your time."

"So much of my time?" echoed Venner, inquiringly.

"So at least you tell me."

"Do you doubt it?"

"I know that five days and nights have passed since you came here to see me," cried Cervera, bitterly. "I have only your own word in explanation of your neglect."

"That should be enough," said Venner, curtly.

"Yet a man after a new love does not shrink from lying to an old," retorted Cervera.

"Pshaw! You are jealous again."

"A woman who loves as I love is always jealous."

"Of whom now?"

"You know of whom."

"I tell you I have not seen Violet Page since the theater closed."

"I have only your word for it," repeated Cervera, with incredulity bright in her sensuous eyes. "You know what I told you, Rufe. I'll not tamely permit that pale-faced nightingale to come between you and me. You know what I told you. I would kill her as I would a—a snake!"

Despite his own stiff nerves, Venner recoiled from the look on the woman's desperate face. Her voice had fallen to a hiss like that of the reptile mentioned.

"You are mad, Sanetta," he cried, irritably. "You have no occasion for this jealousy and hatred."

"I have had! You know that I have had—and your face shows it!"

"You have none now—absolutely none now!"

His emphatic declaration fell upon Cervera with an effect which Venner did not at first understand.

She sprang quickly toward him, gripping him hard by the wrist, while her every nerve seemed stimulated with sudden agitation.

"None now? None now—now?" she fiercely reiterated, in inquiring whispers. "Do you mean that—that it is done? that it is done?"

"Done?" gasped Venner, amazedly. "Is what done? What the devil are you driving at?"

She drew back, searching his eyes with hers, and hers were like those of a demon, in her momentary suspense.

"Then it isn't—it isn't?" she hissed, through her white teeth. "I thought from what you said that it was. I thought—"

"Good God! what do you mean?" cried Venner, aghast for a moment.

Then, struck with a sudden recollection, he turned and snatched an evening paper from a pocket of his coat, which he had tossed on a chair. He had recalled certain leader lines which had caught his eye earlier in the evening, yet which he then had not had sufficient interest to follow.

Now he hurriedly opened the paper and read the story, or so much of it as enabled him to guess the truth.

It was the newspaper story of the girl found dead in Central Park that afternoon, with the mystery involving the sudden fatality, and the names of the murdered girl and her mistress, Violet Page.

A half-smothered oath of horror and dismay broke from Venner, after a moment.

It brought Cervera to his side, and she snatched the paper from him and read—the story of her own failure; the miscarriage of her own jealous and murderous design.

She suppressed the shriek of mingled disappointment and fury that rose to her twitching lips, then passionately cast the paper upon the table.

"Well, what do you make of it?" she demanded, glaring at Venner's colorless face.

"No need to ask," he replied, hoarsely. "You know what I make of it."

"You think I did it?"

"I know you did it!"

"And killed the wrong girl?"

"And killed the wrong girl!"

"Can you guess how?"

"I don't care how. I know that you did it."

"You will not betray me?" hissed Cervera, crouching before him, with eyes never leaving his.

"I have no wish to betray you."

"You dare not! you dare not!"

"I shall not!"

"If you do—"

The woman checked her words for an instant, and ran her hand into the bosom of her dress. When she drew it forth it gripped a naked poniard, upon the polished blade of which the rays of light flashed with many a wicked gleam and glint.

"If you do," she repeated, "I will send you after her, Rufus Venner! I will do even more! I will expose our whole game, and our whole gang!"

"I have said that I shall not betray you, nor will I," cried Venner, signing for her to put up the weapon. "Yet you were mad, Sanetta. You had no grounds for such jealousy, no occasion for such a crime."

"I had—and you know it! I told you I would do it."

"Well, you have tried it, at least," growled Venner, forcing a smile to his gray lips.

"And you dare not betray me," repeated Cervera, thrusting the glittering weapon within her dress. "I have not failed entirely, Rufe, since it makes the criminal tie between you and me all the stronger. It binds us together with links of steel, Rufe, and they are stronger far than any marriage contract."

"Then you love me like that, eh?"

"You know that I do."

"Yet your infernal jealousy, and your determination to quit this house and go to the plant with the gang, may yet ruin us all. If Nick Carter were to get a clew—"

"Bah!" Cervera fiercely interrupted. "I despise him, not fear him! I tell you again, I will fool and foil Nick Carter, as I have fooled and foiled his betters!"

"His better as a detective never lived, Sanetta."

"I care not! I defy him, and will yet show you that—"

"Hush! Hark! A cab has stopped outside!"

Cervera changed like a flash.

With the bound of a leopard, one of those lightning moves with which she could electrify an audience from the stage, she crossed the adjoining room, which was in darkness, and reached the front window.

One glance through the lace draperies was enough.

Nick Carter was just alighting from his carriage.

Cervera darted back and rejoined Venner.

"It is Carter—Nick Carter himself!" she fiercely whispered, with all the fire of her passionate Spanish nature ablaze in her eyes.

"Carter! Good God!"

"Be off, Rufe, and leave him to me!"

"To you alone?"

"Yes."

"He already is on your track for this crime."

"I'll foil him yet! Leave him to me alone!" Cervera fiercely cried. "Be off by the back stairs, then through the stable and the side alley. Go to your own home, and from there signal Kilgore to have the secret way to the plant open for me. Here—the paper! Take it away with you! I'll elude Carter—"

"But he may arrest you at once," protested Venner, excitedly. "If he does—"

"Caramba! do you stop to question?" Cervera furiously interrupted. "If he takes me from this house he will take me—dead!"

"But—"

"Quick—he's at the door! Leave him to me alone, and do what I told you! Away! There's the bell!"

Venner caught up his coat, darted down the back stairs and quickly departed by the way mentioned.

At the same time, while Nick's summons was still echoing through the great house, Sanetta Cervera swept haughtily through the main hall, switched on the electric light, and then opened the front door.

She appeared as cool and composed as if she had just arisen from her dinner.

Yet in the vestibule stood the one man whom she had most cause to fear, the man who now held her fate in his hand—Nick Carter.



CHAPTER XIII.

CRAFTY CERVERA.

"Good-evening, Mr. Venner. Oh, it's not you!"

"Oh, yes, 'tis!" said Nick, dryly. "It's I all right, and I'm it. You appear surprised at seeing me, Senora Cervera."

Cervera had begun, then stopped, then uttered the startled exclamation; and all with the utmost coolness, with the air of one stirred only by genuine surprise, and as if without the slightest fear or dismay upon beholding Nick Carter in the vestibule.

So perfectly natural was her artful assumption, that it rather deceived Nick for a short time.

In response to his dry remarks, the artful jade now nodded and began to laugh.

"Surprised? Well, rather!" she exclaimed, in animated tones. "I was expecting our mutual friend, dear Mr. Venner, and supposed it was he who rang. But I'm just as pleased to see you."

"Yes?"

"Surely! Come in, Detective Carter. You are very, very welcome. I shall be so glad to renew our brief acquaintance. In fact, Detective Carter, I am quite charmed to see you."

"You'll not feel so chipper and charmed when you learn my business," said Nick to himself, as he entered and followed her to the library.

"Take a chair, Detective Carter, and try to feel perfectly at home," laughed Cervera, with bantering vivacity. "You have been here before, you know."

"Yes, indeed, I know," said Nick, dryly. "The night I had a taste of a choke pear, at the hands of your faithful guardians."

"Ah! but you shall be better treated this time," smiled Cervera, dropping into a chair opposite the detective, and fixing her sensuous, dark eyes on Nick's calm, unreadable face.

"I hope so, senora," he replied. "By the way, what has become of those two stalwart guardians of your treasures? Do you still retain them in your employ?"

It was second nature to Nick to feel his way in this crafty fashion, yet he did not really expect any resistance in arresting Cervera, who now laughed and shook her head, replying:

"No, I have let them go."

"That so?"

"I have no use for them at present."

"Why is that?"

"My engagement at the theater has closed, and I seldom have occasion to wear my diamonds. I have placed them all in a safe deposit vault."

"Ah! I see."

"So I have no need for my guardians, Detective Carter, with only myself here. Nobody would want me personally, you know," she added, with a bold laugh.

Nick's firm lips drew a little closer.

"On the contrary," said he, pointedly, "somebody does, want you personally."

"Oh! is that so?" cried Cervera, as if amused.

"Very much so, senora."

"And who does me the honor, pray?"

"I want you," said Nick, bluntly.

"You, Detective Carter! Why, sir, what an idea! I wouldn't have believed it of you."

"Yet it is true, nevertheless."

"Well, well," repeated Cervera, with a pretty shrug, "I am really glad to hear you say so. For what do you want me, Detective Carter?"

Not once had Nick's searching gaze left her brazen countenance, and despite her outward display of badinage, his steadfast and penetrating eyes were making her secretly uneasy.

"I want you," said Nick, pointedly, "for that ugly 'Jack-in-the-box' trick which you perpetrated this afternoon."

Cervera's eyes emitted a single swift, fiery gleam, and her red lips drew closer. Yet she cried, still pleasantly:

"What do you mean by that, Detective Carter? Is it a joke?"

"You'll find it no joke."

"If it is, sir, I don't see the point."

"You will have a chance to look for it at the Tombs," replied Nick, with grim quietude. "Senora Cervera, I want you to go along with me."

"The Tombs! Go with you! What do you mean?"

"I mean that you are now under arrest."

"Arrest! For what?"

"For the murder of a girl named Mary Barton," Nick bluntly rejoined, ignoring the woman's increasing display of amazement and resentment.

"Mary Barton!" cried Cervera. "I never heard of the girl."

"Nevertheless," said Nick, sternly, "you met her on Fifth Avenue this afternoon, and gave her a jewel casket containing a venomous snake, which you had stolen from the den of Pandu Singe, and by which means you inadvertently killed Mary Barton, instead of another for whom your infernal design was intended. I am aware of all of your late movements, senora, you see."

"I see that you are a devil!" cried Cervera, with a sudden passionate outburst. "How dare you come here with such a story as that?"

For a moment at least, the fact that Nick already had discovered nearly every detail of her infamous crime—though committed only a few hours before—almost completely unnerved her, and her changing countenance, her irrepressible outbreak, and the violent agitation of her lithe, nervous figure, were tokens of self-betrayal by no means unobserved by Nick.

"You'll have a chance to refute the story before a judge and jury," Nick curtly answered. "At present you are in my custody, however, and you must go with me."

Cervera rose to her feet, trembling visibly, and gripped the back of her chair as if for support.

"There must be some terrible mistake, Detective Carter," she now cried, with well-feigned distress and alarm. "Surely you do not mean this, sir? Surely you do but jest?"

"On the contrary, senora, I mean every word that I have said."

"That I am under arrest?"

"Yes."

"And must go with you?"

"Precisely."

"To the Tombs?"

"To the Tombs, senora."

"Oh! this is dreadful—dreadful!" craftily moaned Cervera, with tears now filling her eyes.

"I am sorry for you, senora, but I must do my duty," said Nick, rising.

"I know you must—but, oh! what shall I do? To whom can I appeal? Oh! if Mr. Venner were only here!"

"You can send a messenger for him later, or dispatch one of your servants from here," suggested Nick.

"I have none here," sobbed Cervera. "They are all out, and I am alone. I have no one—"

She suddenly stopped, then drew herself up with resentful dignity, and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I am a fool to be so weak!" she exclaimed, bitterly. "Detective Carter, I know nothing of the crime you mention. I never heard of Mary Barton. This arrest is an outrage, and I will appeal to the highest court in the land for vindication!"

"That's your privilege," said Nick, shortly. "But at present you must go with me."

"I cannot go as I am," declared Cervera, passionately stamping her foot. "I am in evening dress—attired to receive a caller. I shall take cold if I go out of doors in—"

"Oh, you may change your dress," Nick curtly interrupted, the need of which was decidedly obvious. "I'll give you time for that."

"How very kind," sneered Cervera, with a bitter flash of her black eyes. "You shall yet suffer for this affront, Detective Carter."

"All right," said Nick. "But I have no time to speculate upon it now, so get yourself ready. Wait a bit, my lady! I'll go along with you!"

"With me? You insult me!"

"Oh, no, I don't. I want a look at your chamber before letting you out of my sight. I've seen rooms with more than one way out, and I don't intend that you shall elude me."

"You're a suspicious coward, sir!"

"Stow all that, senora, and lead the way," commanded Nick, bluntly.

Pale and resentful, with a sneer on her lips, Cervera led the way through, the hall, playing her part so artfully that Nick, ignorant of her late interview with Rufus Venner, was not much inclined to suspect her of duplicity just then.

Upon reaching the top of the hall stairs, Cervera switched on another light, and then that which illumined her chamber, into which she haughtily led the detective.

"A fine affront to suffer," she bitterly exclaimed, throwing herself into a chair. "Your conduct is despicable! You are no gentleman!"

"I am a detective," retorted Nick, "and I come pretty near knowing my business."

"Oh! you do," sneered Cervera. "Plainly that is the limit of your knowledge. You may not be as wise as you think."

Nick made no reply, but looked sharply about the room.

It was a large, square chamber, and elaborately furnished. The two windows were well above the street, and offered no chance for escape. There were but two doors, that leading into the hall and the one leading into a large closet in the opposite wall.

Nick opened the latter, and found the closet hung with Cervera's extensive wardrobe. He thrust his arm along the garments hanging at either side, and sounded the three walls, and then the closet floor, all of which appeared perfectly firm and solid.

Even these precautions seemed quite needless to Nick, however, it being a rented house, and Cervera presumably uninformed of his coming.

"Now, senora, you may have just ten minutes to make ready," said he, as he rejoined her. "I shall leave this chamber door open, and will wait for you in the adjoining hall. Can you whistle?"

"Whistle?"

"Yes, whistle! You know what it is to whistle, don't you?"

The sneer on Cervera's red lips, as she arose from her chair, became almost a smile.

"Yes, I can whistle after a fashion," she admitted.

"Well, then, you keep whistling all the time you are alone here," Nick sternly commanded. "I will let you out of my sight to make these changes, but not out of my hearing."

"Suspicious fool!"

"Fool or not, you keep whistling," said Nick, bluntly. "If you let up for so long as a second, I'll come over yonder threshold in a way that you'll not fancy."

"But suppose I want to brush my teeth?" inquired Cervera, with a vixenish light in her evil eyes. "I cannot whistle and brush my teeth, Detective Carter."

"You'll have plenty of time to brush your teeth at the Tombs," said Nick, sharply. "Now look lively, mark you, and—keep whistling."

Cervera at once began to whistle.

Nick removed the key from the chamber door, and sauntered out into the hall, where he kept his ears constantly alert.

Not for a moment did the whistling cease, nor was there the slightest change in tone or character.

Nick could not have taken a more effective method to serve his present purpose.

At the end of eight minutes the whistling ceased, and Cervera coldly cried:

"Now you may come in, Detective Carter. I am about ready to go with you."

Mick at once entered the chamber.

Cervera had changed her evening dress for a complete suit of black, and was standing in the middle of the room.

"I suppose," said she, staring icily at the detective, "that I ought to thank you for your consideration."

"Don't trouble yourself," said Nick, curtly. "I have no time to waste."

"Yet just one word, Detective Carter, before we go."

"Let it be brief, then."

"You are said to be a very clever man, and no doubt you think you have me dead to rights in this case," said Cervera, with a mocking curl of her thin lips.

"Decidedly so."

"Yet you will find, Detective Carter, that a clever woman can always fool and foil a clever man."

"But you, my lady, are very far from being a clever woman," retorted Nick, with a gesture of impatience, signifying that he wished to leave with her at once.

"Nevertheless, I shall beat you at the finish, make no mistake about that," cried Cervera, scornfully. "Now, sir, I will put on my wrap, and go with you where you please."

With the last remark, she approached a peg in the open closet, as if to take down a dark shawl.

Instead, she suddenly turned quickly around and cried, with a taunting laugh:

"So long, Detective Carter! I really feel quite sorry to bid you—good-by!"

Nick started like a man electrified.

Cervera merely had pressed the peg on which the shawl hung, whereupon the whole back of the closet seemed to fall away instantly, disclosing a lighted passage beyond.

Nick caught a glimpse of it, and of the woman darting toward it, and he followed her like a shot from a gun.

As Cervera passed through the further opening and gained the lighted passage, she seized and threw a short lever just beyond the closet wall.

At the same moment Nick's weight fell upon the closet floor behind her.

It was like treading upon air.

The lever, like the peg, did not work in an instant.

Nick felt himself falling, and made a desperate clutch at the door jamb—only to miss it.

Then the closet floor, with the detective upon it, went speeding down like an elevator cut loose from a top story.



CHAPTER XIV.

IN A WARM CORNER.

The crash with which Nick Carter vaguely expected his career might be abruptly ended, as the floor upon which he had fallen prostrate rapidly descended, did not come.

The terrific downward speed suddenly decreased, then became more gradual, all in the bare fraction of a second; and then the rushing sound of compressed air escaping through narrow crevices fell upon the detective's ears.

Nick immediately guessed the truth.

The falling closet floor was that of an elevator, no longer in use as such, yet which still worked on the slides of the elevator well, and evidently had been cleverly adjusted for just such an emergency as that depicted.

Presently there came a heavy jar, and then the downward motion ceased. The close-fitting floor at first had fallen so swiftly that the confined air in the well beneath it had become so compressed as to form an air cushion, which finally let the floor completely down only after the air had gradually escaped. It was this escaping air Nick heard during the last moments of his fall.

The entire episode began and ended in but little more than a moment, however. Though considerably jarred, Nick pulled himself together, and gazed up through the darkness at the bottom of the well.

Cervera was peering down from the lighted passage three stories above him, Nick having made a clean drop into the cellar of the imposing residence.

That this entire contrivance was the work of the Kilgore gang, devised while they masqueraded at Cervera's house, Nick was thoroughly convinced.

"Hello!" Cervera suddenly cried, still gazing down into the darkness enveloping Nick. "Are you there, Mr. Carter?"

Nick stared up at her, but made no answer.

At the same time he felt quietly over the walls of the well, in the hope of finding some way of escape.

It riled him not a little, the thought of having been so deftly caught in a trap, almost entirely owing to his having been overconfident, an assurance only very natural under the circumstances.

The possibility that this woman might now elude him for a time was also a thorn in Nick's mind.

"Caramba!" cried Cervera, with a mocking laugh. "Aren't you going to speak?"

Still no answer.

"Have you lost your tongue, Detective Carter? If you don't speak out, Mr. Smart Fellow, I shall drop something down that will light you up. I want a look at you, to know whether you're afoot or on horseback."

Nick remained in perfect silence.

Then Cervera disappeared.

"The she-devil!" muttered the detective. "What move next, I wonder?"

Again he felt quickly over the walls of the well, in the hope of finding some avenue of escape.

With a thrill of satisfaction, he now discovered one of the vertical strips of iron which are attached to two opposite walls of an elevator well, to steady the car and serve as slides for it to run upon. These iron strips are usually regularly notched to the depth of an inch or more, for the admission of an automatic break in the event of the rope parting.

"By Jove! this is not so bad," thought Nick. "It might serve for a ladder.

"To climb three stories with the tips of one's fingers and toes, however, and by means of a notched iron on the bare face of a wall, is a herculean and hazardous undertaking."

While he stood, measuring the altitude with his eyes, Nick heard Cervera returning.

Then a great bunch of flaming paper came flying down the well, and the detective was forced to leap aside to escape it.

She-devil, indeed, Cervera had set fire to a crumpled newspaper, with which to illuminate the bottom of the well.

"Ah, there you are!" she exultingly cried, on discovering Nick in the glare of the light. "On your feet, eh? You were lucky to escape, Detective Carter."

"And you'll be lucky if you escape Detective Carter," sternly retorted Nick, quickly stamping out the fire. "I'll finally land you, my crafty young woman, though I lie awake nights to devise a way."

Cervera gave vent to a shrill, vindictive laugh.

"Do you think you can do it?" she demanded, mockingly.

"You'll find that I can."

"Better men than you have tried—and failed."

"Yet I shall succeed."

"Do you feel quite sure of it?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I think I'd better see your finish this very night, since I now have you cornered!" cried Cervera, in taunting tones, "It may not be wise to defer it."

Then Nick beheld a second burning newspaper coming his way.

"Let up, you demon!" he shouted, angrily. "You'll set the house afire."

"Wouldn't it be a shame! And what would become of you?"

"Don't try it again, young woman, or worse may be your fate."

"Oh! is that so?" sneered Cervera, maliciously. "We'll see."

Down came another burning paper, and by the light of it Nick now discovered a closed door in one of the walls. It was directly under the closet door in Cervera's chamber, both of which evidently had once been used for entering the elevator.

The fact chiefly observed by Nick, however, was that the sill of the door was wide enough to offer him a safe footing. Though it was fully eight feet above his head, Nick resolved to attempt to reach it by means of the notched iron on the side wall.

Gripping the rough notches with his muscular fingers, and using those lower down for a foothold, as best he could, Nick hurriedly began the difficult ascent.

By the light from a fragment of burning paper, Cervera perceived his design, and greeted it with a scream of derision.

"I'll soon stop that, my fine fellow," she shouted, with vicious asperity. "Look out for yourself!"

White speaking, she touched a match to one of her dresses, which hung from a near peg on the closet wall, and dropped it blazing down the well.

Nick saw it coming, and was forced to drop back to the cellar floor.

"You vicious demon!" he cried, angrily. "Let up! You'll have the house on fire!"

"That's just what I intend doing—and you with it!" screamed Cervera, with a laugh. "I'll not leave you alive to get the best of me at some later day."

Then she set fire to a silk skirt, and dropped it after the other.

Nick had not yet been able to extinguish the first, and the situation was momentarily becoming more desperate. A cloud of smoke was filling the well, with no draft to carry it away, and the heat was already very oppressive.

Crouching on the curb of the lighted passage three floors above him, Cervera was laughing wildly, with her handsome face reflecting the bitter hatred by which she was inspired, as she hurriedly set fire to a third garment and dropped it down the well.

The smoke at the bottom had become so dense that Nick no longer could see her, but he felt quite sure that he could put an end to her present murderous game.

He drew his revolver and fired two quick shots in her direction. One bullet crashed through the ceiling above her. The second clipped a lock of hair from over the vixen's ear.

It brought a shriek of alarm to her lips, and she sprang quickly back from the curb over which she was stooping.

"Caramba!" she yelled, excitedly. "That's your game, is it?"

"You'll find it is, if you approach that opening again!" cried Nick, half choked with smoke, while he fiercely strove to extinguish the blazing garments.

"Oh, I'll not give you another chance at me!" screamed Cervera. "I'll push over something heavier, and crush out your life with—"

She suddenly stopped, then held her breath and listened.

The crash of a breaking door reached her ears, then hurried footsteps began falling on the main stairway leading to her chamber.

"Some one is coming!" she fiercely muttered. "Perhaps another detective! I must be off!"

Yet so bitter was her hatred of Nick, and so intensely enjoyable to her the trick she had served him, that she lingered for an instant in the face of the impending danger, and screamed down the well, with a mocking laugh:

"I'm obliged to leave you, Detective Carter! While I'm gone—keep whistling!"

At the same moment Chick Carter rushed into the chamber and caught a glimpse of her through the wreathing smoke, as she fled through the lighted passage.

One glance at the scene gave Chick the entire situation.

He drew back, took a short run, and with a magnificent bound cleared the open well, and leaped squarely through the closet and into the lighted passage.

Then the crash of a heavy door, suddenly closed, and the shooting of bolts, told him that Cervera had prevented pursuit for a time at least, and Chick swung round to the open well, to see if Nick needed him.

"Hello, Nick!" he shouted. "The woman—"

"Let her go!" roared Nick, still fiercely fighting the flames that threatened the woodwork of the well. "Let her go—we'll get her later! First save the house!"

"How can I reach you?"

"Through a door under the one in her chamber," shouted Nick. "Try that."

Chick cleared the well with another leap, then dashed downstairs and into the parlor, which was lighted by the glare from both hall and library.

He quickly discovered the door—only to find it locked and the key removed.

Chick was promptly equal to so slight an emergency, however. Grasping a heavy stool near the piano, he swung it above his head, and with half a dozen rapid blows demolished most of the door, and forced it open.

A cloud of smoke floated into the room, but a glance showed Chick that Nick now had the flames extinguished.

"Are you all right, old man?" he demanded.

"Only a little in need of fresh air," gasped Nick. "You cannot reach down to me."

"Wait a bit, then. This will do the business!"

Chick had turned and snatched off the thick cloth covering of the piano, which he quickly twisted and lowered over the doorsill, and then braced himself to sustain Nick's weight.

"All right?" cried Nick.

"Yes. Come on!"

Nick drew himself up until he could grasp the sill of the door, then easily reached the floor and the clearer atmosphere of the parlor.

"Well, here's a pretty mess!" he growled, in tones of self-condemnation. "If ever I was done by a crafty jade, I've been done by one this night."

"How in thunder did it happen, Nick?" demanded Chick, with no little amazement.

Nick very quickly told him, and explained the occasion of his own lack of distrust and caution.

"It being a rented house, I did not look for any such trap as this," said he. "Furthermore, I did not believe that Cervera had any warning of my coming, and I felt satisfied that she was alone here. Have you seen anything of Venner while waiting in the cab?"

"Not a sign of him."

"It's odds, then, that he was here when I arrived, and made his escape by a back door," growled Nick. "If so, it goes to show that he is in with her and the Kilgore push, and not a blind victim to their cunning. We now must get some proof of that, Chick, and force that gang and their game to light. We at least have made a beginning, and now for another move."

"To-night?"

"At once!" declared Nick. "Cervera must find shelter somewhere, and it's very likely she will go to Venner's house. That must be our next point, and we will lose no time. Possibly we yet may land her before she finds cover."

"We can give it a try," cried Chick.

"Help me extinguish these lights, and then we'll be off again."

"I'm with you."

"What sent you into the house so suddenly?"

"The reports of your revolver," explained Chick. "I at once recognized its bark, and knew something was wrong."

"Ah! I see."

"I saw the light in the chamber, and supposed you might be letting the woman prepare to go with you," added Chick. "That was while I sat in the cab. But when I heard your gun, I smashed open the front door and bolted upstairs."

"Very lucky, too," nodded Nick. "That she-devil would have burned the house, and me in the bargain. But the end is not yet."

"Well, hardly!" laughed Chick, as they descended the front stairs and extinguished the last light.

"We'll stop an officer, and send him here to watch the house," said Nick. "Then we'll have a look at Venner's dwelling. It's my opinion, Chick, that our work has now begun in good earnest."

"Well, I reckon we shall prove equal to it," smiled Chick, rather grimly, as they hastened to enter the waiting carriage.



CHAPTER XV.

THE DIAMOND PLANT.

"This does settle it!"

"What do you mean, Dave?"

"It must be done?"

"We must get these Carters—that's what! If we don't get them, Spotty—you take my word for it—they'll get us!"

"Do you really think so, Dave?"

"Not think, but know so!" declared Kilgore, with emphasis. "I know these Carters, root and branch. They have now struck our trail, and they'll stick to it like bloodhounds till they run us down—unless we get them! It must be done, I say, and done promptly."

"Put them down and out?"

"Exactly. It's them—or us!"

"And why do you think, all of a sudden, Dave, that Nick Carter is so hot on our heels?"

"I'll tell you why, Spotty."

And Mr. David Kilgore, chief of the notorious diamond gang bearing his name, and one of the keenest and coolest criminals in or out of prison walls, removed his pipe from his mouth and his heels from the edge of the table, and drew forward in his chair to explain.

It was a curious place, that in which the speakers of the above were seated, in the bright glare of an electric light.

It was inclosed with four solid stone walls, with not a window or aperture through which a ray of light could be detected from outside.

Yet in one of the walls was a low, narrow door, also of stone, and so cleverly constructed and fitted that, when swung into place in the wall, it was comparatively beyond the detection of anybody ignorant of its existence. This door then stood open, but the aperture through the wall was heavily curtained.

Three of these walls formed the original foundation of an old and extensive suburban mansion, the location, ownership and present use of which will presently appear. The fourth wall, that with the door, was of more recent construction, and was built squarely across the original cellar of the house. It had been made to mask this secret subterranean chamber in which the Kilgore gang was then gathered.

The place was commodious, and contained some noteworthy objects. In one corner was a powerful hydraulic press. Near by was a splendid electrical furnace, capable of generating an extraordinary degree of heat. Against the adjoining wall were several barrels of sulphur, of which only one was unheaded. Near by was a large box of anthracite coal, black and glistening in the rays of the arc light.

Parallel with the opposite wall was a workbench, laden with curious retorts, crucibles, test tubes, metal molds, and no end of tools, all of which plainly suggested the work of one versed both in chemistry and some mechanical art.

In the middle of the room was a square deal table, at which Kilgore was seated, with Matt Stall and Spotty Dalton, the original three of the Kilgore gang.

Two other persons were present, however, and they were engaged in examining some work on the bench mentioned.

One of them was a tall, angular Frenchman, about sixty years of age, named Jean Pylotte. He had a slender figure, somewhat bowed; but his head was massive, in which his gleaming, gray eyes were deeply sunk, like those of a tireless student and hard worker.

His companion at the bench just then was Sanetta Cervera, the Spanish dancer—the murderess of Mary Barton—the vicious dare-devil who had served Nick Carter one of her evil tricks that very evening.

Cervera had arrived at the diamond plant less than an hour before, and had hurriedly told her confederates the whole story of her crime and her adventure with Nick.

Crime was too common with these outlaws, however, and loyalty to one another too natural, for Kilgore to censure his only female confederate very severely. Yet as Kilgore now proceeded to explain, her crime had rendered their situation decidedly more alarming.

"I'll tell you why these Carters are now to be seriously feared," said he, nodding grimly at his hearers. "This last move of Cervera has hurt us severely."

"In what way?" demanded Spotty Dalton, the pock-marked chap who had relieved Venner's partner of the Hafferman diamonds about two weeks before. "I don't see just how, Dave."

"No more do I," put in Matt Stall.

"You'll see," replied Kilgore, "when I run over a few facts which led to our being here, and at work on our present game."

"Well, Dave, we're listening."

"One year ago we three were in Amsterdam, Holland, weren't we?"

"Sure."

"At work on a different kind of a game?"

"Yes."

"Only we three were then in the gang."

"That's right, Dave. Now there are seven of us, counting Venner and his partner."

"It was in Amsterdam that we first met her nibs," continued Kilgore, with a jerk of his thumb in the direction of Cervera, who was so engaged with Pylotte that neither heeded the talk at the table.

"Yes, Dave, we met her just a year ago," nodded Dalton.

"She was then doing her dances in a theater there, and we naturally got our peepers onto her diamonds," Kilgore went on to narrate. "You fellows already know the scheme by which we tried to relieve her of them, which we came so near doing."

"Well, rather," grinned Dalton, as if the reminiscence was amusing.

"Then we learned from her own lips, and greatly to our surprise, that her sparks were not the real thing," smiled Kilgore. "At first we could not believe it. The goods deceived even us, old hands though we are. It was only when she told us about Pylotte, and the secret process by which he makes such extraordinary imitations, that we could believe her."

"That's right, Dave."

"She had stumbled by chance upon this clever French chemist and diamond cutter, and was working him to the extent of her ability. She even had got wise to his secret, and he was loading her with his marvelous gems in return for her affection. But we at once saw the way to something much more profitable, a game for making millions out of Pylotte's great discovery."

"Right again, Dave."

"So we told them about it, and found them willing," continued Kilgore. "We rung them into our gang, and planned the whole deal. We knew it would be dead easy to work off such clever stones for genuine goods. With plenty of such sparks on hand, and one big and reputable jeweler to help us work the market, the distribution of our goods and their substitution for genuine stones would quickly throw a cool million or two our way."

"Dead easy, Dave."

"But we decided that New York was the best field for such a gigantic enterprise," added Kilgore. "So we came here. With the help of Cervera, we got our grip on Venner, and then on his avaricious partner, Garside, whose business happened to be on its last legs. So they snapped like hungry fish at this chance to square themselves, by secretly swindling their own customers, and shoving our manufactured diamonds upon the entire market."

"Like hungry fish—h'm! that's no name for it," cried Matt Stall, with a mingled growl and laugh. "Rufe Venner was as ready to become a knave as any covey I ever crossed."

"So we established this plant for Pylotte to do his clever work in," continued Kilgore, disregarding the interruption. "Luckily, Venner already owned this old mansion, as well as that in which he lives; and fortunately, both places are somewhat secluded, with extensive grounds abutting. That enabled us to frame up a very snug and safe retreat."

"Sure it did."

"So we went to work," Kilgore proceeded, discursively. "We built our plant, placed our machinery, rigged a private telephone between this house and Venner's, and tapped the electric conduit with a secret wire, to give us light and feed our furnace."

"That was my work," nodded Stall, with a touch of pride.

"Right you are, Matt, and mighty good work, too," bowed Kilgore. "In a nutshell, boys, after two months' secret work, we have accomplished all we planned, and now have Venner sliding our goods upon the market at a fabulous profit. In a single year, barring these infernal Carters, every man of us should be a millionaire."

"But why this sudden fear of the Carters?" growled Dalton, impatiently.

"I'll now tell you why," cried Kilgore, with voice lowered, and an ugly gleam in his frowning eyes. "We cannot sack Cervera, nor put out her light, for she's too good and strong a card for us to lose. But in losing her head over Venner, and jealously doing up that girl to-day, she has given the Carters a clew by which to track us."

"How so, Dave?" muttered Stall, growing a bit pale.

"Through Venner, of course!" Kilgore forcibly argued. "Until this job of to-day, Carter has had no definite suspicion of Venner, a possibility which we headed off with that fake robbery. Now, however, since Cervera must lie low, and Carter knows of her relations with Venner, he will suspect the latter and make him a constant mark, in the hope of landing the girl."

"By Heaven, that's so!" snarled Dalton, quickly seeing the point.

"And that's not the worst of it," added Kilgore. "The moment he suspects Venner, Carter will connect him with us, and know that that robbery was a put-up job. Then he'll begin to seek us and our game."

"But how can he locate us?"

"Locate us?" sneered Kilgore, acidly. "You don't know Nick Carter! I'll tell you, Spotty, he can smell a rat further than any ferret that ever shoved his nose under a miller's barn. As sure as death and taxes, Nick Carter will run us down and land us, every mother's son of us—unless we can get him, and put him down and out."

"By Heaven, I begin to think so myself," growled Stall. "If we—"

"There are no ifs, ands or buts about it, Matt," interrupted Kilgore, decisively. "We must down them both, Nick and Chick Carter, or our game is as good as done for."

"But how can we land them, Dave, and when?"

"I already have a plan, and I think the first move may be made this very night."

"What's the plan, Dave?"

"To lure both detectives into Venner's house, and there do them up. If we can get them to come there voluntarily, their fate may never be learned, and our tracks will be better covered than by doing the job elsewhere."

"That's true enough, since they're not likely to disclose their intentions, and if they come in disguise, no one about here will have recognized them."

"That's just my theory."

"But how can we lure them to Venner's house?"

"With the help of Pylotte, whom they do not know, nor ever heard of. He's a brainy dog, moreover, and crafty enough to blind them."

"But what's your scheme for to-night?" demanded Dalton.

"After what has happened," replied Kilgore, "it's a safe gamble that the Carters are at this moment watching Venner's house. If they are—but wait a bit! First hear my whole plan."

The three criminals drew their chairs closer, and in a very few minutes Kilgore had disclosed his entire design, a scheme so recklessly bold that it brought murmurs of amazement and misgivings from both his hearers, daring knaves though they were.

"It strikes me, Dave, that it's too long a chance for us to take, this giving Nick Carter a genuine clew to our game," objected Dalton, doubtfully.

"But no other clew will answer," declared Kilgore, forcibly. "You cannot fool Nick Carter with any false move or faked story; I'm already sure of that."

"So am I," nodded Stall. "He's too wise a guy to fool with."

"We are compelled to give him the real thing, and make him feel that he is up against a square deal, or no man among us can work the racket," added Kilgore. "With my scheme, however, Pylotte is just the covey to do the job, and land both Carters where we want them."

"And then?"

"Then it's our ability against theirs," snarled Kilgore, "If we go lame, with the odds all in our favor, we deserve to be thrown down."

"That's right, too," admitted Dalton.

"Will Pylotte undertake this sort of a job, think you?" inquired Matt Stall.

"Will he?" rejoined Kilgore, with an ugly gleam in his determined eyes. "He will, or—well, you know! Yes, Matt, he will; and he's just the man for the job."

The vicious significance with which he spoke plainly indicated that, though Cervera may have ruled her own roost, there was but one chief of this gang, and that was Mr. David Kilgore.

He turned sharply about in his chair, and cried:

"Here you, Pylotte! Come and give us your ear! I have work for you to-night!"

Both Pylotte and Cervera quickly turned and hastened to join the gang at the table.

For twenty minutes Kilgore's project for outwitting and securing Nick Carter was earnestly discussed, and every detail of the plan carefully laid.

Then the four men stole quietly out of the house in company.

It then was a little after midnight.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE CUNNING OF JEAN PYLOTTE.

Kilgore had reasoned shrewdly, in so quickly suspecting that Nick Carter would lose no time in getting a line on the Venner residence. Even while the diamond gang were discussing the plan by which to capture the Carters, the two detectives were at times within a hundred yards of the secret plant.

It was dark out of doors that night, with only a few stars in the clouded sky, and the wooded locality and neighboring streets were but poorly lighted.

It was in a northern suburb of New York, a section not yet much encroached upon by the spreading city, and the dwelling owned and occupied by Rufus Venner was that in which three generations of his family had lived and died.

It was a square, old house of brick, set fifty yards from the suburban street, and was flanked in either direction by extensive, ill-kept grounds, made damp and dark by the huge, old trees, which nearly covered the estate.

Back of the house, and off to one side, was a large wooden stable, fast running to ruin; while a rusty iron fence, falling to fragments in places, skirted the dismal grounds in front.

Beyond the trees, far to the rear, could be seen the roof and chimneys of an old, wooden mansion, fronting on another street, and having a very similar environment. There, too, the house and grounds were running to ruin and decay, both places being but crumbling monuments of former opulence and grandeur.

It was upon this scene that Nick Carter and Chick arrived just before midnight, having left their carriage at a remote corner, to await their return.

"Yonder is Venner's house, Chick," said Nick, as they picked their way along the unpaved sidewalk. "We'll vault this iron fence and steal across the grounds."

"It doesn't look much as if our quarry was there," observed Chick, as they scaled the fence.

"Their deeds are dark, and like seeks like," replied Nick. "They now may be making darkness their cover."

"Not a light in the house, is there?"

"None visible from this side. We'll steal between the house and stable, and have a look at the opposite elevation."

"Not much danger of being seen. It's as dark as a nigger's pocket under these trees."

"So much the better in case anyone is watching."

"Who lives here with Venner?"

"Only an elderly housekeeper, of whom I don't hear anything very good," replied Nick. "Venner is here but part of the time, I am told. In fact, I don't quite fathom his habits."

"Why so?"

"I can't learn what takes him from home so much of the time. He does not leave the city, nor patronize any hotel that I can discover, yet he frequently is away from this house overnight."

"Perhaps he secretly keeps another house, and is leading a double life."

"Possibly," admitted Nick. "He is on friendly terms with numerous women, I learn, and other quarters may be essential to designs of some kind. Quietly, now, and we'll slip across the back lawn."

Like shadows, as dark as the night itself, they silently reached a point from which they could view the north side of the house. Here they discovered that one of the lower rooms was lighted, with the curtain at the single window nearly drawn.

"Somebody is up," murmured Chick.

"We'll learn who, if possible."

"Going to have a look?"

"Yes. Come, if you like, but don't get into the glare from the curtain. Kilgore has a very wicked air gun, and if he and his gang are about here, we might invite a bullet."

"I'll have a care."

Stealing closer over the damp greensward, they approached the house and peered beneath the curtain mentioned. There was but one occupant of the room, which was a small library.

In an easy-chair near the table, with a newspaper fallen across his knees, sat Rufus Venner, apparently sound asleep.

This was only a part of the game, however, for Venner was wide awake. By means of their secret wire, he had been informed of Cervera's arrival at the diamond plant, and of Kilgore's designs upon Nick, and Venner at that moment suspected that he might be under the eye of the detective.

For nearly half an hour Nick waited for some sign of this artifice, but Venner in no way betrayed it.

Presently a clock on the mantel struck the half after one, and the sound appeared to awake him. He yawned, glanced at the clock, then took the lamp from the table and went up to bed. But never so much as a glance toward the window.

Nick led Chick away, and they returned across the lawn to a point beyond the stable.

"It rather looks as if Cervera had been here, doesn't it?" inquired Chick, with a grin.

"Yes," admitted Nick. "Two facts are very significant of it. First, that Venner is at home on this particular night; and, second, that he should be asleep in his chair after midnight. It has a fishy look."

"That's my idea, Nick, exactly."

"Yet the way to prove it doesn't appear quite easy."

"Not just yet. But who occupies that house over yonder, where the roof shows above the trees?"

And Chick pointed to the distant dwelling, little dreaming that the diamond plant and the gang they sought were established under its many-gabled roof.

This was not the first night Nick had watched Venner's house since the diamond robbery, the doubtful character of which he had suspected at the outset, and incidentally he had informed himself concerning Venner's neighbors.

"One Dr. Magruder, I am told, a retired physician from Illinois," he replied. "He bought the place at a forced sale some little time ago."

Nor did Nick, when thus replying, dream that Dr. Magruder and Rufus Venner were one and the same; or that, in attributing to him a double life of shameful iniquity, Chick had hit the nail squarely on the head.

"Come this way," added Nick.

"Where now?"

"We'll go down to the corner of the grounds, and watch the house for a time."

Before Nick's reply was fairly uttered, however, both detectives were startled by distant cries, which fell with frantic appeal on the midnight air.

"Help! Help! Help!"

The startling cry was thrice repeated, the last time as if choked in the speaker's throat, yet the direction of the sound was unmistakable.

"Something's up!" muttered Nick. "This way!"

With Chick at his heels, he tore across the wooded grounds and bounded over the iron fence at the street.

Then the occasion of the outcry at once became apparent.

Some two hundred yards away, in the yellow glare of one of the incandescent lights by which the little-frequented street was illumined, a man was battling desperately with three assailants, one of whom he had knocked to the ground.

Without a word, both detectives rushed down the road to his assistance.

As they drew nearer there came a flash of light, then the report of a pistol, followed by another shriek for help.

Then Nick saw one of the ruffians reel a little, as if shot, while a second hurled their victim to the ground. The third leaped to his feet at the same moment, yelling wildly:

"Look out! Scatter, boys! The cops are upon us!"

"Kilgore's voice, or I'm a liar," muttered Nick, over his shoulder.

Both detectives were still fifty yards from the scene of the furious conflict, and were running at the top of their speed along the rough road.