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.”