THE DARK JAILERESS AGAIN.
It was a cool compact.
Perry Lamont made answer to his son with all the cleverness of a
practiced villain, and Claude accepted it in the same manner.
“I want this man silenced,” continued the millionaire. “He must not
possess this secret.”
“Just as you say,” said Claude, picking up a cigar and coolly lighting
it.
“He must not, I say. You’ve agreed to finish him, and when you’ve done
so the money is yours.”
“Couldn’t you give me a little check now?” asked the son.
Perry Lamont took a check book from the desk and opened it as he looked
at his son.
“How much?”
“Say five thousand. I may need the money in the venture, you know.”
Without more ado the nabob drew up a check for five thousand dollars,
and passed it across the table.
“This business must not lag,” said he. “While that man lives he is
dangerous.”
Five minutes later the young man stood on a corner in another part of
the city. He was smoking complacently and apparently waiting for some
one, for he watched the door of a well-known resort.
Presently the door opened and George Richmond came out.
Claude joined him at once, and the pair walked away together.
In a little while they seated themselves at a table in a room not far
from the corner, and Claude threw the check upon the table.
“Jehu! did you make it?” cried Richmond.
“I did.”
“How?”
The young scamp smiled.
“It’s blood money,” he said.
“Blood money?” exclaimed Richmond. “In Heaven’s name, whose blood does
it mean?”
“Yours!”
“Come, what joke is this?”
“It is no joke. I never joke on serious matters like this.”
The eyes of the two men met.
“This check is signed by your father, and yet you tell me that it is
blood money.”
“That’s precisely what it is. He’s hired me to kill you.”
George Richmond broke into a laugh and leaned back in his chair.
“You don’t look like it, boy,” he cried. “Well, if I’m to be killed,
why don’t you do it now?”
Claude reached forward and picked up the check.
“I’m to have a cool two hundred thousand for the job,” said he. “Just
think of it! You’re an important person.”
“Hang me if I ain’t. Why does the old man want me out of the way?”
“You hold the secret, and he believes you have the papers left by
Mother Flintstone.”
“You gave him that gaff, did you?”
“Yes, in great shape.”
“I hardly thought you’d do it. But since you have I suppose you’re to
furnish proofs that I’ve been killed.”
“Of course.”
“You are not expected to furnish the corpse, I hope?”
“No; not quite that. But he’s to have some sort of proofs, and then
we’ll get the two hundred thousand.”
For an hour these men kept their heads together and talked in low tones.
They discussed first one plan and then another, and when they at last
adjourned and stepped out upon the street they seemed satisfied about
something.
Not far from the place of meeting a hand was laid upon Claude Lamont’s
arm, and he looked into the face of a tall woman.
“You?” he cried, for he was alone, having separated from Richmond a few
moments previous.
“Yes? Why not?”
“I thought I left you in the nest with Margie.”
“So you did, but there isn’t any nest now.”
“No nest? What’s happened?”
“The old place is in ashes.”
Lamont uttered a startled cry, and looked at the woman, who did not
speak.
“You weren’t to hurt the girl, you know?” said he.
“That’s true, but I couldn’t help it.”
“But tell me. Come in here. No one will listen to us. Now, what has
taken place?”
Nora took a long breath and began.
“The girl got almost unruly. I got her up to bed, but she faced me and
threatened.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have paid any attention to her words.”
“I couldn’t help it. She mentioned a name that drove every vestige of
color from my face.”
“An old enemy’s name, eh?”
“Yes; she spoke of a detective whom I fear with all my soul. She spoke
of Carter.”
“And made you chicken-hearted, eh? Pshaw, woman!”
“I couldn’t help it, I say. It filled me with fear, and I broke away.”
“Well?”
“By and by the room became still, and I found that she was asleep at
last.”
“That’s good.”
“In the room below I upset the lamp.”
“The devil you did, woman! You must have been badly frightened.”
“I was. In an instant it seemed the fire was everywhere. I saw it mount
the stairs and dart toward the girl’s room. Fear almost paralyzed me. I
tried to get upstairs, but failed. The fire was everywhere. It filled
the whole house, it seemed. I could no more stop its progress than I
could stop the river yonder. I fled for my life.”
“And left Margie to perish in the flames?”
“Got help me, I did.”
Lamont leaned back and looked at the woman, whose face was deathly
white.
“Did she perish?” he asked at last.
“She must have died in the old house. I did not stay to look after her.
Fear lent speed to my limbs, and I ran like a deer. Not for the world
would I have gone back.”
“You’ve killed the girl!” hissed Claude Lamont. “You’ve made a
murderess out of yourself.”
Nora did not speak, but looked into the young man’s face and exposed
anew the whiteness of her own.
“I suppose you haven’t been there since?” he said.
“What, go back to that spot? Never!”
Claude Lamont drained the glass at his elbow and seemed to take a long
breath.
“What makes you fear this man, Carter? What did he ever do that gives
you the chills?”
“That’s my secret,” cried the woman, half defiantly.
“What makes him your enemy, and, pray, what did you do that his name
terrifies you?”
She did not answer him.
“Look here!” suddenly said Claude. “If you’ve killed the girl by your
faint heart I’ll hold you responsible.”
“Just as you please,” was the reply.
Nora seemed to be getting her old nerve back, for she spoke with
spirit, and her cheeks flushed for the first time.
“You never got such orders from me,” he went on.
“I know it. I dropped the lamp----”
“Come, no excuses,” interrupted the young man. “I shall hold you
responsible--guilty of murder.”
“Just as if you never did anything that has a shady side,” hissed the
woman. “You’re a nice man to talk thus. What have you done that makes
an angel out of you, I should like to know?”
“No accusations, woman.”
“Very well. Will you hand me over to the police? Will you tell the
inspector that I am the last person who saw the girl alive? I guess
not!”
“Don’t dare me.”
“What if I tell them that Margie was Mother Flintstone’s
granddaughter----”
“She wasn’t!” flashed Claude Lamont.
“You take it up in a jiffy,” grinned Nora. “If she wasn’t why did you
resent my words so soon?”
For half a second Lamont watched the dark face before him, and then he
said:
“We’ll call it quits. After all, perhaps you couldn’t have helped it.
The lamp fell from your hand, did it?”
“I told you once.”
“And you couldn’t stop the flames?”
“I couldn’t. I’d give my eyes if that girl was alive to-day. I did not
do it intentionally. My evil genius must have been on the watch.”
“We’ll say so, at any rate, Nora.”
It was the first time he had spoken her name during the interview, and
his voice was considerably softened.
“The department may have reached the fire in time to save the girl,” he
went on.
“No, no! she perished. The whole house was in flames by the time I got
away. I’m going now.”
“Still afraid of the detective’s shadow?”
“Never mind the detective. I’m going, I say.”
“Do you mean that you’re going away?”
“Yes--to put ten thousand miles between me and that infernal crime of
mine.”
Lamont drew forth his pocketbook and began to count out some bills.
“Put up your money. It’s blood money!” cried Nora. “I wouldn’t touch a
penny of your father’s wealth. I don’t want money. I’ve got all I shall
need.”
“Then you’re going but a short distance?”
“Yes; not far.”
The last word seemed to come from between clenched teeth, and a
desperate look settled on the woman’s face.
“Then here’s to you, Nora, and good luck go with you,” and Lamont held
out his hand.
She pushed it away, with a look of disdain.
“It’s like your money. There’s blood on it, too!” she exclaimed. “Some
day you’ll wish you had never had anything to do with this game of
crime. Good-by.”
She sprang up, gave him another look and vanished.
“She’s mad, but it’s all right. She will try the river,” he laughed.