Miguel leaned a little closer to his fellow conspirator, so that the light of the kerosene lamp fell full upon the hard, evil features of the pair. Nick Carter instinctively bent over the crazy banister to listen. “I mean just this, Solado: If this place should accidentally catch fire, there is ammonia enough stored in the basement to make a smoke that would soon settle the business of any one who had to inhale it----” “Well?” “Where is that fellow?” “Who? The assistant? He’s down there somewhere. So is Marcos.” “They’re not together?” “Of course not. Dugan put them in separate cellars. There are four cellars and they have been used as storage places for different materials ever since the building was no longer used as an ice house.” “You have allowed Marcos to have cigarettes?” “Yes. He smokes most of the time. That’s his chief amusement--except when I go down to see him. Then he changes his occupation by abusing me.” “Very well. Where are Dugan and his men?” “They are coming to-night to help me get Marcos away. It isn’t safe to leave him here. The house stands by itself, and we don’t know who might come to see what we are doing.” “Dugan has it leased at present, hasn’t he?” “Yes. He has some portable property he did not want to keep in New York, so he took this place for a year, under the name of Morrison. And there is a lot of stuff in one of the four cellars belonging to him. He will take that to-night, when we move Marcos. His men will be with him, and he will do everything at once.” “Where did you intend to put Marcos?” “Dugan has a place where he will be safe--in New York. It is a tenement somewhere. He would not give me the address, but he will take us all there.” “I think the yacht would be the best plan. Let it go away, down the coast somewhere. Then perhaps we could lose Marcos in Mexico. You know there is a lot of promiscuous shooting in that region at present. It would need only a bare hint to make some of those officious Mexicans take a man as a spy and shoot him before he could explain.” Miguel was a savage-looking fellow at best. When he made this deliberately cold-blooded proposition he looked positively fiendish. “Very well,” returned Solado. “I’m willing. But we will leave the other fellow in the cellar.” “You mean Carter’s man?” “Yes.” For a few seconds the two plotters looked directly into each other’s eyes. Then, slowly, each reached a hand across the table, and the two shook hands upon it. “The scoundrels!” muttered Nick Carter. “I’m glad I got here in time. Actually they are going to kill Chick right in this building. They can’t mean anything else. Well, I’ll----” He turned quickly, determined to get out, go down the chute, and, with Patsy, make his way to the basement in another way. It would not be difficult to effect an entrance, for all the doors were of old and weather-rotted wood, and he could break through any of them, he was sure.