“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: