“Oh, yes, you do. This talk about working for the welfare of our beloved country is all very well when you are speaking for the benefit of strangers, and I have no objection to your giving it to Marcos, himself. But it only wastes precious time when you and I are alone together.”
Nick Carter listened with more intentness than ever. He had learned, at the very beginning, that there was a plot to kill him—or to get him out of the way for a long time. He did not quite know what was meant by “permanently,” although he could guess. But he had found out now that Marcos was somewhere close at hand—doubtless in the power of these two traitorous rascals.
“What I was going to say,” went on Solado, “is that there is a strong reason for getting this American detective out of the way. He is taking too active a part in this matter. I do not feel that we have Marcos safe even now until we have pared the claws of Carter.”
“You’re right to a certain extent, Solado,” was the response. “It would be well to stop this detective if we could. But I suggest that our first business is to take Marcos away, so that there will be no danger of his getting back to Joyalita by the eighteenth.”
“Isn’t he safe enough here?” asked Solado.
“He would be safer out at sea. Then we should not have to fear the detective, even though we were not able to dispose of him—permanently, as you so humanely put it,” returned Miguel, with a grin.
“The blackguards!” muttered Nick Carter, over their heads.
“You forget that assistant of his,” came from Solado, in response to Miguel’s suggestion. “What are we to do with him?”
“I thought it was settled what was to be done with him,” answered Miguel, in a more earnest tone than he yet had used. “There is a lot of ammonia stored in the lower part of this building, isn’t there?”
“Yes, but——”