THE PARRICIDE.
“You’d better not try it.”
“Why not?” snarled Richmond.
“She may be dangerous.”
“That chit? Pshaw!”
“Just try it. See here. You don’t want to be too gay just now. Don’t
you know you’re a dead man?”
“So I am.”
“Well, be a little careful. What if Carter gets on to our game?”
“Carter mustn’t do that.”
“Of course not, but we must see that he cannot.”
Ten minutes longer the two men, watched by Bristol Clara, the tenant
in the next house, remained in the room, and then Richmond bade Claude
good night.
The moment the millionaire’s son found himself alone he struck the
table with his fist.
“Why didn’t I really kill that man?” he exclaimed. “He is bound to be
my evil genius, after all. I can’t see my way clear to ultimate success
with him in the way. He’ll blackmail me, and what can I do? If he were
really dead----”
He did not finish the sentence, but broke it off suddenly, and arose,
throwing his cigar away.
“I’ll go home,” he said.
A few minutes later he was met at the door of his home by his sister
Opal, whose face told him that she had something of importance to say.
“Father is gone,” said the girl, with a gasp, and would have fallen if
Claude had not caught her around the waist.
“Gone?” echoed the young sport.
“It is true. You can see for yourself.”
Opal led the way to the library, and mutely pointed at her father’s
chair.
“When did you miss him?” asked Claude.
“An hour ago.”
“Did he leave any message behind?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
Opal handed her brother a crumpled note, and the young man leaned
toward the light to read its contents.
“My God! you don’t believe that?” he exclaimed, turning upon his sister.
“I don’t know what to believe,” was the answer.
“What have you done?”
“Nothing. I’ve been waiting for you. I sent to the club, but the
message came back that you had not been there.”
“Something must be done. Certainly father did not mean this. He has not
gone to the police.”
“I--don’t--know.”
“I’ll see. He may have gone to the river in a fit of madness. He would
not tell all he knows about Mother Flintstone.”
“I should think he would not.”
Claude seized his hat and rushed from the house.
For a little while his brain seemed to swim, and the lights blinded him.
He did not ask what Opal would do now that she was again the sole
occupant of the house.
He did not seem to care.
Perry Lamont was a runaway, with a great secret at his tongue’s end and
millions at stake.
For some time the old nabob had been subject to strange spells of
mania, and the worst was to be feared.
It was this that urged Claude Lamont on and on.
He could not wait till he got downtown, and minutes seemed hours to him.
He thought of a thousand things.
He wondered what had become of Carter, and more than once he looked
back, as if he expected to see Nick on his trail.
At a fashionable saloon he stopped long enough to gulp down something
for his nerves, and then he hastened on again.
Suddenly he stopped, and then dropped into the shadow of a large
building.
A man was crossing the street--coming toward him.
His heart took a great leap into his throat, for it was the very man he
was hunting for--his father.
Claude stood in the shadows and watched him like a hawk.
He could not take his eyes off the old man, and as he neared him he
debated in his mind what to do.
As the millionaire stepped upon the sidewalk within a few feet of him
the son darted forward and clutched him by the arm.
“Father!” he cried.
With a powerful effort Perry Lamont shook the grip loose and looked
into Claude’s face.
“My God! he’s mad!” ejaculated the young man.
“It is Claude. Don’t you know me?” pleaded the son.
“Let me go. I’ve been looking after my sister--little Sis, you know.”
“Heavens! he means Mother Flintstone!” thought Claude.
“I can’t find her. What’s become of Sis?”
“I’ll find her for you.”
“What; you’ll show me where she is?” cried the old man.
“Yes, yes. Come with me.”
In an instant Lamont’s mind changed, and he became as docile as a lamb.
As Claude was near the house he occupied when not at home he guided his
father thither and let him inside.
Conducting him to the library, where he had just had an interview with
George Richmond, he seated his parent and took a chair himself.
“Is she here?” asked Lamont.
“Yes; you’ll see her presently.”
“But I can’t wait. I want to see Sis now. I haven’t seen her for years,
and I want to tell her about the money I have kept for her so long.”
“What money?”
“I’ve kept it for Sis. It belongs to her--the thousands which were left
to her, you know.”
“What if Sis isn’t in need of money?” queried Claude.
“Then I’ll throw it into the fire! No one shall have it but her. I will
see to that. Who are you?”
Claude smiled grimly.
His father had not recognized him.
“Come, you don’t want Sis to have the money,” he cried, and before the
son could prevent, the other was on his feet, his eyes glaring like the
orbs of a wolf.
“I’ll have your blood if you don’t tell me!” shrieked the mad
millionaire.
“I’m your son.”
“No, you’re not! My son? It’s a lie!”
Claude saw his danger, and the madman advancing upon him made him throw
out his hand in self-defense.
“My son is at home!” cried Lamont, senior. “You are not he. I won’t
believe it!”
“But, father----”
The sentence was not finished, for all at once Perry Lamont sprang at
his son, and grabbing him by the shoulders, threw him against the wall.
There was a startled cry on the other side of it from the woman whose
eyes seemed glued to the paper there.
“I’ll kill you like a dog if you don’t tell me where Sis is. I went to
her den--they called her Mother Flintstone, you know--but she wasn’t
there. Where is she?”
“Let me loose first.”
“And let you run off? Not much; ha! ha!” and the maniac laughed. “I
won’t do anything of the kind.”
“But I can’t show you where Sis is unless you do that. I won’t run
away, father.”
“It is false. You can’t fool me. I will hold you here till you tell the
truth.”
“Well, Sis, is asleep in the room yonder.”
“Is that true?”
Claude Lamont wanted to gain time. If he could get rid of his father’s
maddened hands he might effect his escape, for just now he was in
danger.
Perry Lamont glanced toward the door, and seemed disposed to believe
his desperate son.
But suddenly he appeared to change his mind, for again his eyes shot
forth sparks of fire.
“Call her out here,” he said.
Claude’s heart seemed to sink within him.
He knew he could not call back the dead.
He wished for the door to open and admit some one; he would have
rejoiced then, with his father’s fingers buried in his throat, to have
seen Carter.
“I’ll give you one second, or to hades you go!” suddenly cried Perry
Lamont.
Claude’s blood seemed to run cold.
One second to live!
What had become of George Richmond?
Why didn’t that worthy turn up to save him in the nick of time?
Why had he guided his father to that house and not home, where he would
have had Opal for an ally?
Fate was against him.
“Quick! quick!” exclaimed the madman. “Tell me where Sis is or I will
tear your throat here!”
Claude made one last effort.
He summoned all his strength and dashed forward.
His father’s feet tripped on the carpet, and, falling, he dragged him
down.
Father and son fell in a heap on the carpet, and for half a second
seemed stunned by the tumble.
Claude was the first to recover.
He raised himself and tore himself loose from the maniacal fingers.
As he did so his father sprang up with the roar of a baffled tiger, and
launched himself forward.
It left Claude little time for reflection or action.
He saw danger ahead, and his hands were bare of any weapon.
But suddenly he snatched up a glass paper weight from the desk, and
launched it straight at his father’s face.
An arrow never went straighter to the mark than did the paper weight.
It struck the millionaire fairly in the face, and he went down like a
stricken ox.
On the carpet he gave a convulsive gasp and moved one arm; that was all.
“He invited it,” said Claude. “He forced it upon himself. They can’t
blame me for this thing.”
Five minutes later he stood on the street, with the house darkened
behind him and the glim of the lamps in his eyes.
He looked like Cain; the brand was on his brow.