“Why the deuce haven’t you run him up against my game?” demanded Godard.
“He never plays, Nate,” said Belle quickly. “I tried it, on my word I did. But he doesn’t know one card from another. He says he has an uncle out West, however, a big cattle ranchman, who is a fiend at faro.”
“H’m! I wish he’d wire his uncle to come on here. I reckon we could trim him.”
“I don’t think he’d consent to do that, Nate,” laughed the girl, upon whose spirits the murderous project she had in mind seemed to cast no cloud. “You vacate here to-day and give me the keys to both houses. Then leave Nick Carter to me. Within a week I will turn him down, or my name is not Belle Braddon.”
“You shall have the keys not later than Friday, Belle.”
“That’s soon enough,” nodded the girl, rising. “Meantime, Nate, I must devote myself to bleeding that yellow-haired baby from Dakota. He’s as loose as ashes with his dust, Nate, and I’ll give him credit for that.”
“Then I guess you’ll bleed him all right.”
“If I don’t, Nate, there’ll be something wrong with the cards,” said Belle, with a ringing laugh. “So long, old chap! I have an appointment with him at noon. A hot bird and a cool bottle, you know, and then a ride in the park. But you go ahead, Nate, with the moving. I’ll have my little job on old Nick all framed up in time, never doubt that.”
CHAPTER XV.
SECRET WORK.
“Well, sir, I’m here, as I agreed!”