Two other persons were present, however, and they were engaged in examining some work on the bench mentioned.
One of them was a tall, angular Frenchman, about sixty years of age, named Jean Pylotte. He had a slender figure, somewhat bowed; but his head was massive, in which his gleaming, gray eyes were deeply sunk, like those of a tireless student and hard worker.
His companion at the bench just then was Sanetta Cervera, the Spanish dancer—the murderess of Mary Barton—the vicious dare-devil who had served Nick Carter one of her evil tricks that very evening.
Cervera had arrived at the diamond plant less than an hour before, and had hurriedly told her confederates the whole story of her crime and her adventure with Nick.
Crime was too common with these outlaws, however, and loyalty to one another too natural, for Kilgore to censure his only female confederate very severely. Yet as Kilgore now proceeded to explain, her crime had rendered their situation decidedly more alarming.
"I'll tell you why these Carters are now to be seriously feared," said he, nodding grimly at his hearers. "This last move of Cervera has hurt us severely."
"In what way?" demanded Spotty Dalton, the pock-marked chap who had relieved Venner's partner of the Hafferman diamonds about two weeks before. "I don't see just how, Dave."
"No more do I," put in Matt Stall.
"You'll see," replied Kilgore, "when I run over a few facts which led to our being here, and at work on our present game."
"Well, Dave, we're listening."