A few minutes later he turned up in a certain house in another part of the city, and dropped into a chair as the tenant of the room demanded to know if he had been in a prize fight. “Not quite, but I struck an Amazon,” was the reply, and he of the brown beard tried to smile. “Tell me; did you encounter Margie?” “No one else. What made you guess her?” “Her name popped into my head somehow or other. Guess I must have been thinking of her when you came in. What did she hit you with?” “With a crowbar, from the way my head feels; but never mind. It’s a long lane, you know.” Claude Lamont smiled. “You do pretty well for a ‘dead man,’” and then both men burst into a laugh. “I’ll wring her neck for it yet!” suddenly cried George Richmond. “I’ll have the blood of that girl for her blow!” CHAPTER XXXVI. 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.