"Locate us?" sneered Kilgore, acidly. "You don't know Nick Carter! I'll tell you, Spotty, he can smell a rat further than any ferret that ever shoved his nose under a miller's barn. As sure as death and taxes, Nick Carter will run us down and land us, every mother's son of us—unless we can get him, and put him down and out."
"By Heaven, I begin to think so myself," growled Stall. "If we—"
"There are no ifs, ands or buts about it, Matt," interrupted Kilgore, decisively. "We must down them both, Nick and Chick Carter, or our game is as good as done for."
"But how can we land them, Dave, and when?"
"I already have a plan, and I think the first move may be made this very night."
"What's the plan, Dave?"
"To lure both detectives into Venner's house, and there do them up. If we can get them to come there voluntarily, their fate may never be learned, and our tracks will be better covered than by doing the job elsewhere."
"That's true enough, since they're not likely to disclose their intentions, and if they come in disguise, no one about here will have recognized them."
"That's just my theory."
"But how can we lure them to Venner's house?"