“You?” cried a person who came out of the shadows of the bookcases, and Claude Lamont stood in the presence of Opal. Her look was a question, but her lips framed one. “You’ve been there?” she cried. “You sent me down there, didn’t you?” “I did. Well?” “I always obey you, don’t I, sis?” “You do, Claude. You are my best friend. But tell me--you looked into the room on the right?” “Yes.” “And----” “It was empty!” “Empty? My God!” and Opal, the millionaire’s daughter, staggered back and dropped into her father’s chair. CHAPTER XXX. THE MASTER DETECTIVE’S LITTLE GAME. “Empty? That house?” again cried Opal, from the depths of the chair. “I cannot believe it.” “It is true. I just came from the place,” answered Claude. “What did you do there, sis?” “I shot him.” “Not the detective?” “Yes; Carter. I lured him to the place. He was here again, playing his hand. I could not stand it. He was in our way. I wanted him removed. Father was helpless, and the desperate scheme came into my head. I lured him to the Cedar Street house and leaned over the banister, shooting him through the transom while he stood in the parlor.” “And left him there?” “Yes, yes.” “Well, he wasn’t there when I looked into the room.” Opal Lamont looked wildly around the library. “What could have become of him?” she asked. Claude shook his head. “Do you think he could not have been dead?” “I thought you went into the parlor afterward?” “I did. I bent over him.” “And he appeared at the end of the trail?” “He did.” “It’s a mystery to me.” “Why didn’t you look all over the house?” “That’s just what I did.” Opal sat silent for a moment longer, and then she sprang up with a sharp cry. “If he lives he will try to get even. We must silence this man. It must be done at once.” “Granted. You were a fool to decoy him to the old house.” “I knew of no other place,” was the reply. “I took the first plan that entered my head. I never dreamed of failure.” “There, don’t think I’m finding fault, sis. You did the best you could; I’m sure of that. The only wonder is that you didn’t make a sure shot after what you’ve done at the galleries.” Half an hour after the interview with his sister Claude Lamont occupied the armchair in the room in which he once showed himself to Carter and Bristol Clara, the latter his near neighbor. This time he was alone. Presently he was startled by a rap on the front door, as if some one outside had no use for a bell, and in a moment he had opened it. He found a well-dressed, dark-faced stranger on the step--a man with a brownish beard and clear, gray eyes. Claude did not know just what to do with the man, but as he held the door open the fellow entered and faced him in the hall. “Come this way if you have business with me,” said the city sport, and he escorted his caller to the room he had just left. The man took a chair and laid his hat on his knees. “To whom am I indebted for this call?” asked Claude.