“Of course you don’t go to Hell’s Kitchen, because you say you don’t,” grinned Rosy Larkins in the same squeaky tones. “What are you driving at?” at last Claude made out to say. “At just what I’ve said. I’m pretty plain. My voice isn’t as sweet as the notes of the oriole, but you understand my words all the same.” “You certainly don’t mean to say that you’ve got a secret about my going to Hell’s Kitchen?” “Now you’ve hit it. You wasn’t there the night Mother Flintstone was helped out of this world?” “I was not.” “But I know better.” “You do?” “Yes; you were there, and Rosy Larkins holds the secret so far all alone.” Claude leaned forward and fastened his gaze upon the face before him. “Don’t you think silence is worth a thousand dollars?” queried his caller. “Your silence?” “Mine! That’s not a large sum with you who has his hands upon the purse strings of a millionaire. You don’t want the police to drag you forward as being connected with the mystery of Hell’s Kitchen? I don’t want to see one of my old patrons in such a fix.” “Did you see me there?” asked Claude, a little nervously. “I’ve got convincing proof.” “But I haven’t got the money, Larkins. You will have to come again.” “I won’t,” said Larkins, and the squeak seemed to get the snarl of a wild beast. Claude looked at the table and then back at the man. Larkins was twirling his hat on one of his hands, and his face was still immobile. “What if I can’t raise that amount, and then, what does a man of your present standing want with a thousand dollars?” “What does a porcupine want with his quills?” flashed the young sport’s visitor. “He uses them, that’s what. I can use a thousand dollars.” Lamont thought of his own account in bank. It would not do to give that man a check for the amount, for identification might be followed with unpleasant recollections. Suddenly he thought of the five thousand he had lately received from Lamont, senior. A part of it was still in his pocket. Biting his lips Claude produced the roll of bills and slowly counted out the required amount. “There, don’t come again,” he said, looking up at Larkins, whose hand reached out for the money. “But hold on. What assurance have I that you won’t sell me out yet?” “My word.” “If it’s no better than your face I’m afraid it’s not worth a great deal.” “That’s all right. I’m no seraph. Neither was Mother Flintstone, who died that night--you know how,” and with this shaft Rosy Larkins opened the door. As he stepped into the hall his face was for a moment turned from Claude, and that moment the young man whipped a revolver from the table drawer. As he started up there was a musical click, but the next instant the bare hand of Larkins covered him. “Don’t be a fool,” he said. “The secret wouldn’t die with me, Mr. Lamont.” The leveled weapon dropped and Claude went back again. “Aha, good-by. Thanks for the chink. It saves Rosy Larkins from the river,” and the man with the squeaky voice was gone.