“Sure!” cried Venner, thrusting his weapon back in his pocket.  “He cannot suspect that we have recognized Nick, and he’ll come in, all right.”

“Go, then!  We’ll be back here in six minutes.”

Venner hastened to one of the front windows of the house and peered out toward the street.  At that moment a flash of lightning, followed by the nearer roll of thunder, dispelled for an instant the intense gloom of the night.

A growl of profound satisfaction broke from Venner while he gazed, and he muttered exultingly: 

“By Heaven! we’re all right!  He’s waiting in the carriage, and Dalton is still on the box!”

Nick was being pushed out of a back door of the house, meantime, and then across the lawn and through the dark stable.

The ruffians who were hurrying him away did not stop there, however.  Pylotte ran on ahead, while Kilgore and Matt Stall continued urging the detective across the grounds, making toward the old wooden mansion in which their secret plant was located.

It seemed to them the safest place in which to confine Nick, pending the delay in getting hands upon Chick.

Presently they came to a dry ditch, walled at each side, and originally built for draining the low meadows between the two estates.  Into this they plunged, following it until they arrived near a wooden bulkhead in the foundation wall of the house.  This was the secret way of entering, to which Cervera had referred the previous night.

Pylotte already had opened it, and Nick was quickly forced through a dark cellar.

“All right,” cried Kilgore.  “Let us in.”

Instantly the secret stone door was thrown open, and Nick was nearly blinded by the flood of light in the room into which he was abruptly thrust.

He stood in the subterranean chamber of the diamond plant.

And there, erect on the floor, with her evil countenance a picture of malicious triumph, stood his crafty combatant of the previous night—­Sanetta Cervera.

“Caramba!” she cried, shrilly, with a vicious laugh.  “So you’ve got him!  Well done, Dave!  Well done!”

“Yes, and we’ll presently have the other,” cried Kilgore, panting hard after his exertions.

“Good for you, Dave,” screamed Cervera, exultingly.  “But this is the one I want most—­this is the one!”

“Look lively, Matt.  Lend a hand here, and we’ll bind him to yonder chair.”

“And leave Cervera to guard him, eh?”

“That’s the stuff.”

“Can she do it?”

“Can she!” growled Kilgore, with derisive vehemence.  “You let her alone for that.”

“Yes, yes, let me alone for that!”

“We must get back to stand by Venner.  That Chick Carter is nearly as tough a customer as this fellow.”

“I guess you’ll find that that’s no dream,” said Nick to himself, as the ruffians bound him to the chair mentioned.