“Don’t ask me,” said Deland. “How in thunder do I know?”
“Does he know about the red liquor? Does he know it came from the skirt, and that I was the one that sprinkled it on the banker? If he does, by thunder, and that you three ginks croaked——”
“Shut up!” snapped Deland. “It now makes no dif[Pg 35]ference what he knows. We’ll fix him so he can make no use of it.”
“That’s got to be done,” Plugger Flynn declared, with a growl.
“And the sooner it’s done, Mortie, the better,” added Daggett, glaring down at the detective. “It’ll be a good job to wipe out this dick. If the rest of his push know too much, we’ll croak them, also.”
“There’ll be time enough for all that,” said Deland, with characteristic assurance. “I first will finish with this infernal squealer and find out where he stands.”
“He’ll settle, by thunder, or we’ll stand him on his head,” snarled Daggett, jerking a chair toward the desk and sitting down. “Get after him, Deland. You’ve been doing the talking.”
CHAPTER IX.
THE CLOSED DOOR.
Nick Carter needed to hear no more than the significant remarks already made, nor really needed to have heard them, in fact, to convince him that his earlier suspicions and deductions, as well as the theory he had formed concerning the terrible crime were almost absolutely correct.
Nick now felt reasonably sure, too, since learning that Cora Cavendish had sent the three crooks out there, that Patsy must have got on her track before that was done, and he was borrowing no trouble as to the outcome of his own situation.