“And you say Claude did it? His son?” “His son. I saw the whole affair.” “Tell me all about it, Clara.” Bristol Clara did so, and the detective listened without once interrupting the woman. “I must see the man yonder,” said Nick. “That’s easy. The house is tenanted only by the dead. You can easily get inside.” It did not take Carter long to reach the room where Perry Lamont lay. He raised the man’s head and saw the dark spot made by the murderous paper weight; then he lowered it again to the floor. He searched the room thoroughly, and found more than one thing which told him that it had been one of Claude Lamont’s nests. At last he rejoined Clara in the other house. “Now for the round-up,” said he. The woman looked at him, but did not speak. “You once asked me who killed Mother Flintstone,” said Nick. “Yes.” “I know.” “Of course you do. You find out all these things. I never doubted that you would reach the end of this trail.” “Well, woman, I can tell you now.” Bristol Clara leaned forward, and Carter whispered a word into her ear. “My God! you don’t mean that?” cried the woman, as she recoiled, with very little color in her face. “Every word of it.” “It cannot be.” “It is true.” “Then go and do your duty;” said she. “Don’t let the guilty escape, Mr. Carter.” “I don’t intend to. I’ll see you later, Clara. Only keep a watch over the man in yonder. The murderer may come back. Perhaps it was self-defense, but he isn’t remorseful. It is murder all the same.” The detective made his way from the house and to another part of the city. He had found in the desk a bit of paper, with a scrawled address thereon. It was a certain number in Brooklyn, and inside the hour the detective was across the river. It did not take him very long to reach the house, which he found darkened and silent, but his ring brought footsteps downstairs and to the door. As the portal opened Carter caught sight of an old man’s face, and he addressed him. “I desire to see Mr. Holden, your roomer.” “He’s sound asleep, sir.” “I must see him all the same. Which room does he occupy?” The detective pushed forward, with one hand on the old man’s arm, and the old fellow seemed to suspect the truth. “Don’t disturb my wife. She’s sick upstairs. You shall see Mr. Holden. I hope he isn’t a fugitive from justice, sir?” There was no answer by the detective, for the old man opened a door and motioned Nick across another threshold. As Carter entered the room a human figure sprang from a bed and stood on the carpet before him. “How are you?” said the detective. The reply he got was a snort like a sound from a restive tiger, and George Richmond, brought to bay, threw a swift glance toward the door. “What’s wanting?” he demanded. “I want you.” “What for?” “For conspiracy.” The man before Carter seemed to catch his breath. It was not so bad after all. In fact, a grim smile appeared at the corners of his mouth and his look softened.