With a strange oath, the taller man interposed, jumping forward and pushing his companion aside.
“What is the use of this pretense?” he growled. “I know you are my cousin, and I want to know what you intend to do when you get back home to Joyalita.”
Nick Carter permitted himself a laugh of intense amusement—a laugh that evidently grated on the other person’s nerves, for he broke out with another oath—in Spanish, or something like it.
“Either you have mistaken me for somebody else, or you are crazy,” declared Nick. “This lady and I want to pass on.”
Nick Carter pushed his way forward, regardless of the gesticulating stranger.
Together, and with a lightninglike movement, the two men flung themselves upon him.
Nick had anticipated something of the kind, however, and as the shorter man came to the proper distance, the detective shot out his hard American fist straight from the shoulder.
There was a loud splat, as the blow landed on the masked face, and down went Don Solado—for it turned out to be he—flat on his back, evidently knocked out.
“What?” bellowed the taller man, Prince Miguel. “Is that your game? Well, we’ll see!”
He flung his arms around the detective, trying to force him backward.