“I mean that I’ve been buncoed by the infernal sleuth. He has served me one of his devilish tricks. He pretended to swallow all that I handed him three nights ago, and I was fool enough to believe him. Luckily, however, I got wise to-night without his suspecting it. I’ll pay him off with his own coin. I’ll queer his present game, in spite of his scurvy ruse, and hand him goods of another color.” Busby’s parchment-hued face had taken on a look of apprehension and anxiety, while that of his wife lost its last vestige of color. “Does he suspect your identity?” questioned Busby. “No, not for a moment.” “Or me?” “No, nor you,” Margate assured him. “You are out of it entirely.” “Thank God for that,” Busby fervently exclaimed. “I should never have gone into the cursed job. It was too long a chance.” “But having gone into it, Busby, you cannot safely back out,” Margate said curtly. “Besides, you ought not wish to, Busby, with a million or more at stake. As for it’s being a long chance--rats! No chance is too long for me to take. I’ll make good, too, in spite of Carter and all of his kennel.” “Do you think so?” “I know so.” “Why were you so upset, then, when you entered?” “I was mad with myself, disgusted with myself, for having been blinded by the infernal meddler,” Margate declared, with a growl. “I ought to have suspected it, ought to have known he would suspect me and serve me some crafty trick. Twice burned, one surely should fear the fire. I ought to have been on my guard. Listen. I’ll tell you what I overheard to-night.” Busby listened without interrupting, also the woman, and Margate quickly informed them of the interview between Nick Carter and Clayton. “That’s all,” he said, in conclusion. “It’s enough, too, but it don’t break the camel’s back. Not by a long chalk.” “Enough is right, Dave,” Busby now said grimly. “He suspects you, or he would not have questioned Clayton about you.” “Nor have made that crack about Clayton’s illness coming on soon after he employed me.” “Do you think he suspects your game?” “No, not for a moment,” Margate asserted confidently. “How can he suspect it, Busby, supposing me to be dead?” “That’s true. Nor that Dunbar threw up his job in order that you might slip in there?” “Carter does not dream of that.” “He soon will, all right, and something more than dream of it,” thought Patsy, elated by the important discoveries he was making. “Nor does he suspect that Mattie Dryden is in love with me and obeying my every command,” Margate forcibly added. “It has simplified matters, my having the nurse under my thumb and willing to go the limit for my sake. I doubt that I could have found opportunities to secretly drug the old woman and keep her tongue-tied until we can pull off our deeper game. It’s dead easy for Mattie to do, however, without incurring suspicion.” “But how did Carter get wise to our use of scopolamine?” “That’s only a guess on his part,” Margate declared.