The detective accepted and watched her like a hawk, for had not she once faced him with a revolver, and was not this the woman named by “Lewis Newell” on the wall of the dungeon? Opal Lamont seemed calm now. She faced the man of many trails and even smiled. “The murder of Mother Flintstone?” she said, recalling the detective’s words in the hall. “You accuse me of that, do you?” “Yes.” “Let me see your proofs, please.” Carter dived one hand into his bosom and drew forth a little packet, upon which the eyes of Opal Lamont were riveted from the first. He had never shown this to any one. No one knew that he found it in an obscure corner of Mother Flintstone’s den the night he went thither with Mulberry Billy, the street waif, and the old woman’s “chum.” Opal leaned forward and watched the hands of the detective open the packet. She never took her eyes from the “find,” and when the last bit of covering had been taken off she appeared to grow white. One-half of a ring lay in Carter’s hand, and he glanced from it to the immobile face of the millionaire’s daughter. “You found that in the house, I suppose?” asked Opal. “Yes; in the darkest corner, not far from the spot where you struck the blow.” “Is that all?” “Not quite.” “You need not go on. Look at me, Mr. Carter. It was for the honor of this house. She was wicked.” “She was your father’s sister!” “She made a bad match. She was disowned, or, rather, she disinherited herself.” “But that was no excuse for the crime.” “She might have paraded the relationship before the world,” cried Opal. “She was positively dangerous. She was a perpetual menace. It was dreadful.” “You took it upon yourself to put her out of the way. You went to the house----” “To silence her tongue!” broke in Opal Lamont. “Murder was not in my mind at first. But she taunted me; she laughed at me when I offered to make her rich. She even threatened to appear in public and boast of the kinship. That was more than I could stand.” “You struck her then?” “I did. I broke the ring with the blow. I did not miss it till I came home. The other half strangely clung to my finger till I reached this house. I thought I had lost the rest on the street.” “You nearly involved others in that crime.” “How’s that?” “Your brother was for a time suspected of the murder, and then his chum, George Richmond.” “Did it deceive you?” “For a time. I traced out the ownership of the ring. I did it with the utmost secrecy. But a short time ago I half believed that one of them was the guilty person, but I am undeceived now.” A haughty smile came to the girl’s lips. She made an impatient gesture and then said: “Let us dismiss these things. We can come back to them, you know. You said a while ago that father was dead.” “He is.” “Where is he?” “In one of the many houses he owned.” “I thought he would take his life in his madness. He would have given his wealth for the keeping of the secret of the kinship. How did he do it?”