"
"Put up your revolver," said Nick, abruptly. "What's that black object
you dropped just now?"
Pylotte glanced down at his feet, then laughed faintly.
"That's odd," said he. "It's a piece of coal. I must have seized it from
the road, thinking to defend myself with it."
"What is there odd in that?"
Pylotte laughed again.
"Diamonds may be made from coal," said he. "The fact that I should have
got hold of a piece in the road here, while tracking that diamond
swindler in search of his house, strikes me as being rather odd."
"So it was," said Nick, a bit dryly, thinking of Venner's house in the
near distance.
Then he added, decisively:
"Put up your gun, Mr. Pylotte. I want you to go with me. I think you are
the very man I want."
"Go with you!" exclaimed Pylotte, drawing back.
"If you please," said Nick, politely. "I want, at least, to hear more of
your story."
"But who are you, sir?"
"My name is Nick Carter."
"Not the celebrated detective?" cried Pylotte, with feigned amazement.
"Precisely."
"That's quite sufficient, Mr. Carter!" the Frenchman now cried, with
much bowing and scraping. "I'll go with you when and where you wish. If
any man can run down these swindling ruffians, sir, you certainly are
the man.
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