“Oh, if my dear friend, Mr. Venner, says it is all right, I am sure it must be so,” she cried, smiling up at Nick.  “But I am afraid, Detective Carter, that you will now think me dreadfully severe, and my two watchmen more brutal than bulldogs.”

Nick laughed deeply, and glanced at the display of diamonds on the table.

“When one has such valuable toys as those in her house, senora, bold men and vigilant bulldogs are both essential,” said he, heartily.

“That’s true, sir; indeed, it is.”

“And with your permission, senora, I will shake hands with your two watchmen also, to show them I bear no resentment.  After which I will take myself home, to nurse my little tokens of their vigilance and prowess.”

This brought a laugh from all, and Nick, ever shrewd and crafty, now shook hands with the two criminals he fully intended to finally land behind prison bars.  Then he bowed himself out of the room, and was accompanied by Rufus Venner to the front door of the house, where he bade him a genial good-night and departed.

When Venner returned to the room, he found Dave Kilgore seated on the edge of the table, with his false beard in his hand, and a look of intense distrust on his evil, forceful face.

“Crafty—­infernally crafty!” he cried, as Venner entered.  “I tell you, Rufe, that man must be watched.  He is a man to be feared—­constantly feared!  I’m cursed if I can tell whether he gave us that on the level or not.”

“Pshaw!” sneered Venner, contemptuously.  “Of course it was on the level.”

“I’m not so sure of it—­not so sure of it!” reiterated Kilgore, with clouded brow.  “I tell you, Venner, that he must be watched, and we must be guarded.  We have too much at stake to suffer Nick Carter to queer our game.”

“There is one sure way of preventing it,” cried Cervera, with passionate vehemence.

“Kill him?”

“Yes!  Take his life!” hissed the dancer, through her gleaming white teeth.  “You were fools to have missed it to-night.  Even the law would have acquitted you.”

“There are nights to come!” Kilgore grimly retorted.

CHAPTER VIII.

Found dead.

“What’s the trouble yonder, Nick?”

“Where?”

“In the park.”

“Humph!  Something wrong, evidently.  Come on, Chick, and we’ll see.”

It was nearly sunset one Monday afternoon, and almost two weeks subsequent to the incidents last depicted.

That at least one of Dave Kilgore’s suggestions had been adopted, and he and his gang had become rigorously guarded, appears in that the Carters had utterly failed to accomplish anything against them in the interval mentioned.  Despite constant vigilance and incessant work on the case, neither Nick nor Chick had been able to secure an additional clew.

Kilgore and Matt Stall had vanished as if the earth had swallowed them.