In one corner of the office was a square wooden partition, which the detective believed concealed the door and staircase to the lower part of the building. He opened the door of the partition with caution when he found that it was unlocked. He found himself in a small vestibule, which became pitch dark when the door swung back on a spring. Before turning off his flash--which precautionary measure he had taken ere he let himself into this little lobby--he had seen that there was another door opposite. Slowly he opened this door. As he did so, a blinding flash of light came in his face. He was looking directly into a lamp with a reflector on the wall of a room adjoining the office from which he had come. At the same time he was confused by a babel of voices. It was lucky for Nick Carter that the persons talking were all standing or sitting with their backs toward him--except one. This one, whose eyes met his own at the moment he thrust part of his head through the opening, was the person he wanted to get into touch with. It was Prince Marcos. The other three were Solado, Miguel, and the small-eyed, slick-haired individual who had been lying down in the skiff outside the warehouse up to the time he entered. “I’ll give you this last chance, Marcos,” Miguel was saying, in harsh, insulting tones. “If you will give me your word of honor to remain in New York for two weeks longer, I will release you at once.” “I wouldn’t do it,” broke in the slick-haired man. “Keep him where you can be sure of him.” Marcos shot a look of indignant anger at the slick-haired man that made him seem to crumple up, as he said sternly: “Jason, if ever I get you back in Joyalita, you shall pay for this in a way you deserve. I ought to have taken notice of the warning I had before we left home that you were not to be trusted.” “That’s all right!” snarled Jason. “I was as much to be trusted as any one, I suppose. There’s Prince Miguel! He’s your cousin, and he’s going to take your place as head of the country when he gets back. Why don’t you talk to him. He’s----” Jason might have said more, for he seemed to be getting more spiteful as he proceeded. But Miguel suddenly jumped from his chair, and, with a stifled oath, sent his fist crashing against Jason’s temple. The rascal fell to the floor without a groan. He did not move afterward. “Now, Marcos! What do you say?” asked Miguel coolly, as he took his chair again, without even a glance at the prostrate Jason. “What do I say?” repeated Marcos. “What do I say? Why, I say that you are a more contemptible scoundrel than that poor devil you have just knocked down, and that I shall yet have the pleasure of putting you in the government prison of Joyalita for treason and abduction.” “That’s enough!” sneered Miguel. “Go on, Solado!” Solado rapped with his knuckles on the table before him.