The tall, regal-looking girl seemed almost beside herself with joy. She would have embraced Claude had not his coldness repulsed her, and in a few moments she withdrew. “I’ll take it now,” said Claude, addressing his parent. “Oh, yes. You’ll place it to your account, I suppose?” “Of course.” Perry Lamont filled out a check for two hundred thousand dollars, and pushed it across the desk to his son. Claude looked at it a moment, and then transferred it to his pocket. It was the cost of a secret; it was also blood money, and the time was near at hand when that deed was to return to plague the doers. “Safe at last!” exclaimed Perry Lamont, when he found himself alone. “It’s in the fire and he’s out of the way. I would like to know if Claude really had much trouble. The paper said it was vertigo, but we know better. Claude is sure the post mortem will not reveal anything. They won’t catch Claude!” He chuckled to himself and looked at the darkened ashes of the false confession in the grate. By and by he returned to the desk and sat down, his head falling on his breast like that of a weary man, and in a short time he was fast asleep. The house grew still. Outside Claude Lamont was hurrying downtown, while Opal, in the parlor almost for the first time since her bout with the detective, thrummed the piano. Some distance from the Lamont mansion Carter, the detective, was watching the actions of a man who mixed drinks behind a bar. It was Caddy, the mixer at the Trocadero, and the detective, well disguised, seemed to take more than a passing interest in his movements. By and by Caddy put on his coat and walked out, with Carter at his heels. All at once the hand of the detective fell upon Caddy’s shoulder, and the little man stopped at once. His face grew white when he looked up and saw the keen eyes that seemed to read his inmost thoughts. “Don’t do it again,” said the detective. “What have I done?” “Don’t threaten Miss Marne again.” “But I--I--didn’t.” “You did. Please don’t try it any more. That’s all.” Caddy did not catch his breath till Carter was out of sight, and even then he seemed to breathe hard. “Won’t I?” he hissed. “Just let me get another chance at the girl, and I’ll make her think she isn’t anybody in particular. She refused to play her part of the game I’ve made up, but I’ll bring her around in spite of the two men, that I will.” But for all his braggadocio Caddy was ill at ease, for instead of going on he retraced his steps to the Trocadero, took a “bracer,” and remained indoors. Nick Carter proceeded on his way, and at last pulled up in front of Bristol Clara’s house. The woman opened the door even before he knocked and led him into the parlor. “George Richmond is dead,” she exclaimed, a smile coming to her lips. “Not quite dead, but I heard the arrangements made. It’s a cool scheme, isn’t it? Who are they going to beat out of two hundred thousand dollars?”