Still groaning, and incoherently muttering, Nick permitted himself to be raised to his feet, and Stall then supported him and urged him out through the open doorway and into the adjoining room. In his red wig and croppy head, together with his rough attire and dazed aspect, Nick certainly presented a wretched appearance. He blinked confusedly, glanced down at his bound wrists, yet at the same time took in every feature of the brightly lighted room. It plainly was the library of the house, and both Rufus Venner and Cervera were seated near a handsome center table. Upon it lay most of the woman's jewels and diamonds, evidently lately removed, and presenting in the rays of light from the chandelier above a dazzling temptation to such a fellow as Nick then appeared to be. In an easy-chair, near the wall, sat the man called Dave, at the time Nick was thought to be dead outside. Now, in the bright light of the room, Nick instantly recognized him to be David Kilgore, despite a heavy disguise which the criminal obviously believed to be impenetrable. Nick gave no sign of the recognition, however, being content to await developments, and to shape his own course accordingly. From that moment, however, the name of neither criminal was once mentioned; and Nick was compelled to infer that Venner might indeed be entirely ignorant of their true identity and knavish character. The eyes of all were upon the detective, as he stood swaying slightly on the floor; and Cervera sharply demanded, with a threatening frown: "Well, you vile miscreant, what can you say for yourself?" "Me?" queried Nick, pretending to pull himself together. "Nothing at all." "I guess that's right." "What should I say? Why have you got me here, and tied up in this fashion?" "You'll soon find out," cried Cervera, with vicious asperity. "What were you doing out back of my house?" "Nothing much," Nick evasively growled, waiting to learn which way the cat was about to jump. "Nothing much!" sneered Cervera. "You'll find that will not go down with us." "I was looking for a chance to sleep in your stable," muttered Nick. "You lie, you dog!" cried Kilgore, fiercely. "You were at the back window." "Was I?" "And your game was to rob me of my jewels," Cervera angrily added, with her eyes emitting a gleam as fiery as the blazing gems at which she pointed. "That was your game, you renegade!" "Do you think so?" "I know so!" Nick hoped she did. "And all I regret is," added the vixenish Spaniard, "that the bullet of my watchman did not end your villainous life." "We can end it now, señora, if you say the word," put in Matthew Stall, with grim readiness. Nick never accepted such scenes as this at their face value, for he had witnessed many a similar game of bluff. This one might be all right and on the level, he reasoned, yet there still existed the possibility that he was recognized, and that these remarks implying the contrary were only a part of some well-laid plan.