The girl would have replied if footsteps had not approached the detective’s door, and he crossed the room. Billy, the street Arab, bounded in the moment the door was opened. “I’ve located him!” he cried the moment he caught sight of Carter. “I can show you the face I saw at the window last night. Come! Let the gal stay. We don’t want her. No gals in the case for Mulberry Billy is my motto,” and the boy darted toward the door again. CHAPTER XVI. THE MILLIONAIRE’S GUEST. In another part of the city about the same time that witnessed these events a scene was being enacted which is destined to have an important bearing on Carter’s present case of mystery. This time it was not in the heart of that tough locality called Hell’s Kitchen, but in the haunts of the better classes, indeed, in what might be called the abode of wealth. Perry Lamont was a multimillionaire. He was a man of past fifty, but with very few gray hairs and a florid complexion. He was not engaged in any business, having retired from the “Street” some years prior to the opening of our story, and now was resting at his ease. Surrounded with wealth of every description, this man was an envied person and a man to be congratulated on the easy life he could lead in his luxurious mansion. Blessed with wife and children, the latter grown to manhood and womanhood, he passed his days in luxury, his only fad being fast horses, with which his stables were filled. Perry Lamont sat in the splendid library of his home and smoked a prime cigar. He was alone. His wife and daughter had gone to the opera and his son was playing billiards at the club. Therefore Lamont had the whole house to himself, for it was the servants’ night off, and he had resolved to take his ease. Suddenly the clear tones of the bell reverberated through the mansion, but the millionaire did not rise. He did not want any visitors, and he was not at all in the humor to be disturbed. Again the bell rang, a little sharper than before, and he laid down the cigar. “Confound it all, why can’t a fellow get a little rest?” he growled, crossing the room toward the hall. “It’s a pity some people haven’t the slightest notion about propriety, but must come when a man wants to throw off the cares of the world and enjoy himself.” For the third time the bell jangled, and the next moment Lamont reached the door. He opened it with a growl on his lips, but all at once a man rudely pushed past him into the hall. “Good evening,” said the stranger, who was tall and decidedly good looking from what the millionaire could see of his face, for he kept his collar up. “Don’t think I’m an intruder. Of course, I came here on business, and that overleaps every other consideration, you know.” “Business? This way, then.” Lamont led the way to the library, where he waved his caller to a chair. “You have a son, I believe?” said the visitor.