Margate swung round in his chair.
“How long is this to continue, Dave?” Busby impatiently added. “What’s to be gained by it? There’s no telling what more Carter may have up his sleeve. He already suspects enough to throw us down, if all you have said is true and he shows up to-morrow with that Philadelphia specialist. What’s to be done to head him off? I’m not so sure it can be done. You certainly are wasting time, Dave, wasting time.”
Margate jerked out his watch and glanced at it. His countenance changed like a flash.
“You are right, Busby,” he cried, starting up from his chair. “It can be done, all right, as I soon will show you. No ruse by Nick Carter shall foil us at this stage of the game. We already have thwarted him by getting Garvan into our clutches. This way, all of you, for half a minute. I can tell you in less time how it may be done.”
He strode to one corner of the laboratory, where, for several minutes, he talked in earnest whispers with his three confederates.
Patsy Garvan could only wait and watch them. That they would kill him without shrinking, in order to carry out their knavish designs, he had not a doubt. That was plainly manifested in their evil faces.
So, too, was the seeming feasibility of the steps now advocated by Margate to thwart the threatening efforts of Nick Carter. That his project would serve their purpose, that they still had their infamous game well in hand, all finally seemed to agree.
For Busby suddenly turned and hastened to one of the shelves, from which he selected a small vial and gave it to Margate, remarking grimly:
“One injection of that will do the business.”
“Leave us to do the rest, then,” returned Margate, then hastily resuming his disguise. “Look after this rat, Busby, and keep a constant eye on him. You had better drug him, also, to relieve you of further trouble. We can turn the trick in half an hour. One o’clock sharp, Dunbar, mind you, in the gloom under the porte-cochère.”