“And what of his associates?” inquired Venner.  “I think you spoke of a trio.”

“His confederates are scamps of the same sort, and nearly his equal in craft and daring,” replied Nick.  “Perry Dalton is one—­the smooth, pock-marked rascal whom you, Mr. Garside, had the pleasure of meeting this morning.  He is nicknamed Spotty Dalton, because of his slight disfigurement.”

“And the other?”

“Is a man named Matthew Stall, more commonly called Matt Stall.  He is a Western man, a graduate of a California university, and is an expert electrician.  Oh, I know all about them,” laughed Nick, “although this is the first time I have been up against them personally.  I am rather glad to discover that they are here in New York.”

“Why so, Detective Carter?” Venner carelessly inquired, with a subtle gleam in the depths of his dark eyes.

“Because I have long wanted to match my talents against those of Dave Kilgore and his rascally push,” declared Nick, with grim austerity.  “The last I knew of them they were in Amsterdam, Holland, where some of the finest work in diamond cutting is done, as you doubtless know.”

“Indeed, yes.”

“They probably had to jump that country for obvious reasons, and very likely the European continent,” added Nick.  “They have long avoided New York, and the fact that they are now here is significant of—­well, well, we shall see!  That’s all, gentlemen!”

“But what do you intend doing about this case?” demanded Venner, as Nick abruptly rose to go.

“All that can be done, sir,” the famous detective bluntly rejoined.  “I accept the case, Mr. Venner, and will do my best with it.  When I have anything to report, you shall hear from me.”

“But—­”

“There really is nothing more to be said, gentlemen, and the sooner I get to work the better,” Nick gravely interposed.

“But will you advise me of any steps that you may take?” persisted Venner, briefly detaining him by the arm.

“Very probably,” nodded Nick, though really he probably would do nothing of the kind.  “And now good-day, gentlemen.  If reporters call upon you, you may give them all of the facts, and state that Nick Carter is at work on the case.  I want this Kilgore diamond gang to know at the outset that I am after them—­and fully resolved to land them where they belong.”

“Behind prison bars, eh?” inquired Venner, with an odd smile.

“Yes, sir!  Behind prison bars!” declared Nick, forcibly.  “Again, gentlemen, good-day.  You will hear from me later.”

Mr. Rufus Venner, with his partner at his elbow, stood in the office door and silently watched the two celebrated detectives as they strode quickly through the elegant store, from which they presently vanished into Fifth Avenue.

There was a smile of subtle cunning, combined with cruel and malicious determination, on Venner’s dark face and he muttered under his breath, as the store door closed upon Nick’s imposing figure: