On the outside the same little figure saw them and again became Carter’s spy. This time Billy tracked Claude Lamont, and saw him enter the office of a morning newspaper with a limited circulation. He saw him in earnest conversation with a certain attaché of the office, and some money changed hands. After this Claude Lamont, as Billy found out, seemed quite at ease, for he followed him to a large café, where he ate heartily like a man pleased with what he had done. Meantime George Richmond had gone to another part of the city. Once more he entered the locality known in the annals of the police as Hell’s Kitchen, and slipped into the room once occupied by Mother Flintstone. The people who had moved into the place were already gone, a few hours sufficing, and he was alone in the old shell. Instead of sounding walls and ceiling, as he had done on a former visit, he went straight to the old bricks on the hearth, and commenced lifting them one by one. To accomplish his purpose the more readily he got down on his knees and worked like a beaver. Each brick was carefully replaced, and he had gone over half the space when he was interrupted. A door opened and shut behind him, and George Richmond started to his feet. A man stood before him. “There, don’t draw,” said the person at the door. “It would do you no good, George Richmond. Don’t let me disturb you. Go back to your work.” Richmond did not stir. “Go back to your work, I say. I’ll wait till you find it.” “Find what?” “You know. Your quest.” The ex-convict smiled grimly. “I was only seeing if the old woman placed anything under the bricks,” said he. “Something valuable, eh?” “Perhaps.” “Not money, was it, George?” “Perhaps not.” “You’re a cool one. I thought your trip up the river reformed you. Don’t you remember how the newspapers exploited your return, and said you were quit of crime? It was a great fake, wasn’t it?” The speaker smiled, but Richmond did not. “Who are you?” he demanded. “That’s another matter. Don’t let me disturb you. You haven’t taken up more than half the bricks. Go through the rest.” “I don’t care to. You’re playing spy, and, by heavens! that’s dangerous work.” “You mean that the man who watches you may live to regret it?” “Yes.” “Well call me spy, then. Don’t you think you’re playing a pretty bold hand just now, George?” “I?” “You. You are into it so deep that you don’t want to miss a good thing. There’s nothing buried under those bricks; there never was. Mother Flintstone hid it elsewhere.” “That’s false. She hid it in this house, and unless you----” “Come, George, don’t show your teeth like a tiger. It will do you no good. You can’t find the confession, but the other one will do just as well!” “What other one?” It was evident that the question had no sooner left Richmond’s lips than he regretted the utterance. “You know; therefore I need not specify. I hope the work was well done.”