STARTLING DEVELOPMENTS.
Just what the millionaire’s son was doing in that part of the city at
that hour Carter could not conceive, but that his mission was not of
the most honest kind he did not doubt.
The carriage was out of sight in a few moments, and the detective was
alone with the patrolman.
Seeing that it was not worth while trying to find Richmond in that
locality, the detective made his way to his own quarters near Broadway.
The moment he opened the door he was surprised to see Billy, the street
waif, spring from a couch in one corner of the room and bound toward
him.
“I’ve got him located now!” cried the boy.
“You’ve got who located, Billy?”
“The man who gave me the slip the other night on the street.”
“Where is he?”
Billy told the detective that if he would follow him he would show him
the man in question, and Nick obeyed.
“Look at the gentleman over there at the table in the corner,” said the
boy, when he had taken Carter to a little theater and from a secluded
spot in the gallery pointed to a man at a table on the ground floor.
“That’s Claude Lamont. This is luck, Billy! When did you see him come
here?”
“Half an hour ago.”
“Well, I’ll take care of him now.”
The detective sat down and watched the man below.
The place was a free-and-easy, and the resort of a good many shady
people, but on that particular night it did not seem to enjoy its usual
custom.
The detective could easily believe that Claude Lamont could have been
driven to the free-and-easy after he saw his face in the cab, and now
he intended to keep the young fellow in sight.
For an hour Carter kept his post, when Claude suddenly arose and looked
at his watch.
In another moment he spoke to a man near the table and that person
nodded.
Nick left his seat and kept an eye on the nabob’s son.
Claude coolly lit a cigar at the counter and moved toward the street.
On the sidewalk he looked both ways and then started off.
Carter was at his heels.
Lamont walked several squares and then turned up the steps of a
well-to-do house.
The detective drew back.
Soon after the door had been shut a light appeared in the front window.
Almost at the same time the door of the adjoining house opened slightly
and a face peeped out.
“Heavens! Bristol Clara!” cried the detective the moment he spied this
face. “Things are playing into my hands better than I deserve. I wonder
if she will serve me now.”
The door had barely shut ere Carter was there and his ring caused it to
open again.
There was a slight cry from the woman in the hall, and the detective
pushed in and faced her.
“You?” cried the woman, falling back. “You said you would never bother
me again.”
“That’s true, Clara, but this is for the last time. Who is your
neighbor?”
“Ha! don’t you know?”
“If I did I wouldn’t ask you, would I?”
“Perhaps not. You want to find out something about them?”
“There are two, eh?”
“Yes; one just came home.”
“Which one, woman?”
“The one with the dust.”
“The other is the featherless bird, is he?”
“Yes, but he’s the coolest one, I’m thinking.”
“You don’t live here for nothing, Clara. This is a sort of double
house.”
“That’s just what it is.”
“Then, you know how to see what is going on in the side over there. I
want to see, too.”
The woman moved across the room and was followed by the detective.
“What’s the case now? Tell me that first,” said Bristol Clara, stopping
suddenly and turning upon the detective.
“Murder.”
The woman started.
“Is it that bad?” she exclaimed. “Who was the victim--man or woman?”
“One of your sex.”
“Old or young?”
“An old woman--a ‘fence,’ Clara.”
“Not----”
Bristol Clara stopped and looked away.
“I guess you’ve heard about the crime,” said the detective. “I am on
the trail of the murderer of Mother Flintstone.”
“I thought so. Well, the secret may be in that house beyond this
partition. Those men have talked about that very crime. I’ve heard
them.”
The woman led the detective upstairs and opened a small door in one of
the walls.
A dark apartment was disclosed, and she entered, followed by the man at
her heels.
“We are now in the other house,” said Clara, laying her hand on the
detective’s arm, which she found in the dark. “Here is a stairway which
I accidentally discovered last summer, and which I have used on several
occasions.”
“It leads down to the room where I saw the light, doesn’t it?”
“Not exactly. There is a hole in the ceiling. I made it with a knife.
You see, I didn’t know how soon I would be wanting to find out
something about my neighbors, so I haven’t been idle.”
“You’re worth your weight in gold, Clara.”
In a little while Carter found himself in another dark place, and Clara
pointed to a ray of light that seemed to come up from some place under
their feet, and the detective drew closer.
“Put your eye down to it,” said the woman.
This Nick did, and soon became accustomed to the scene beneath him.
He was looking into a large and expensively furnished room.
Pictures in large gilt frames were arranged on the walls, and thick
Brussels carpet covered the floor.
The chandeliers were of expensive make, and everything betokened great
wealth.
The room was inhabited at the time by a man who reclined in an armchair
under the main light.
Carter knew him at once.
It was Claude Lamont.
The detective had a good chance to study the young man’s features, and
he could note how eager he seemed to greet some one. He was not kept
long in suspense when the door leading to the main hall opened and some
one entered.
“George Richmond--my old friend,” smiled Nick, as he watched the other
one. “He gave me the slip in the tall building, and now greets his old
chum, Claude.”
“You’re a little behind,” said Claude, looking at his friend. “You must
have had an adventure.”
“That’s just what I’ve had,” laughed the other, taking a cigar from the
open box on the table at Lamont’s elbow. “Say I didn’t play it on the
shrewdest old ferret in the city, will you?”
“On a detective? What, have you had a bout with one of those people?”
“Haven’t I? I left him in durance, and it will be some time before he
gets out, I’m thinking.”
“Come, tell the whole story. I’ve had a little adventure myself,”
exclaimed Lamont. “You don’t mean to say that you’ve had a little
episode with our friend Carter?”
“With no one else.”
“Why didn’t you silence him?”
“I hardly know. But we’ll fix him later on.”
“Did he know you?”
“Yes.”
“What gave you away?”
“One of my old cards. I lost it in the den.”
“Oh, you’ve been back there, eh?”
“Yes. I went back to give the old place another inspection. I sounded
the walls and inspected the floor, but I couldn’t find the papers.”
“Then they don’t exist.”
“I’m beginning to think that way myself. But the old hag certainly knew
the truth, and don’t you think she made out just such papers intending
to leave them some day to the girl or to the street rat?”
“To the girl perhaps, but never to the rat,” said Lamont. “Margie knows
a good deal, and would be a dangerous person for us to fight if she
had the cleverness of some women. But she’s caged for some time, and
Nora will see that she remains silent. But the papers? We must have
something of the kind. If Mother Flintstone did not leave such, we must
make them.”
“Now, that’s it.”
“The governor won’t knuckle down till he sees them, and then we’ll get
all we want.”
For half a second Richmond smoked in silence, and then he threw away
his cigar.
“We must make the papers!” he cried. “Your father, Perry Lamont,
must give you free use of his purse strings. When I called on him
and threatened to send you to the gallows unless he handed over ten
thousand dollars he laughed in my face, and I came away with no cash at
all. But I picked a check book from the desk, as you know, with one
good check filled out. That’s helped us some.”
“Yes; but it’s a mere drop in the bucket. The governor must be
confronted with certain papers proving that Mother Flintstone was his
sister and my aunt. That will open the cash box, I guess!”
And young Lamont laughed.
“The infernal villains!” ejaculated Carter, as these details of infamy
fell upon his ears; “if that isn’t a gallows pair then I never saw
one in all my life. Claude Lamont can’t get his hands on the Lamont
cash box, and that’s what worries him. One of those men killed Mother
Flintstone; but which one?”
In another moment Claude and Richmond arose and left the room, and
Bristol Clara said:
“That ends the exhibition for the present,” and the detective answered
that he was satisfied.