“I haven’t, eh? Just wait till I’m through with you before you crow that way.” Then the man came forward and bent over Billy, who shrank into the depths of the chair. “Who sent you after me?” he demanded. “No one.” “No falsehood! He did, didn’t he?” “Whom do you mean?” “You know.” “You must explain.” “Just as if you didn’t know anything, you little gutter rat! To be plain, the man you were talking to to-night told you to dog my steps. I know that much.” “Then that keeps me from explainin’,” smiled Billy, whereat the man’s face grew dark. “No insolence! Little chicks get their necks wrung same as old ones.” Billy leaped from the chair and sprang forward, but he was arrested by the hand of the fellow and held fast. “Tell me the truth. He sent you after me?” For once in his life at least Mulberry Billy was terrified. “Yes,” he said. “Nick Carter they call him, don’t they?” “Yes.” “Detective!” The boy said nothing. “Why am I to be watched?” “I don’t know.” “What has happened lately?” “Don’t you know? Don’t you ever read the papers?” “Sometimes.” “Then you must know that they’ve killed Mother Flintstone.” “Who’s she?” “My best friend, even if she didn’t have all the frills of society,” said Billy, with a grin. “Where did she live?” “In Hell’s Kitchen.” “That’s a nice name!” “It fits the place.” “What was Mother Flintstone?” “She fenced some times.” “Oho!” The exclamation was followed by a prolonged whistle. “I see.” The man, dropping Billy suddenly, took several turns about the room. “Could you show me where she lived, boy?” he suddenly asked, coming back to the boy. “I could----” “And you will? That’s good! Mother Flintstone, eh? Was that her right name?” “Never heard any other for the old woman.” The countenance of the stranger seemed to soften and he told the boy to guide him. They left the house together, the boy in advance, and Billy piloted the man into Mulberry Bend and straight to Hell’s Kitchen. “It’s a tough place, I see,” was all the comment the stranger made as they entered the locality. “No place tougher, but I’ve called it home for a long time.” Into the little old room--the place of sin and crime--Billy led the man and a light was struck. “Where did she keep her valuables?” asked the man. “I don’t know.” “But she had papers, hadn’t she?” “I can’t say; but if she had the perlice must have found them.” “They searched the den, eh?” “They looked it over.” “Did Carter do it, too?” “Yes.” “What did he find?” The boy shook his head. “You’re not the custodian of his secrets, I see.” “I’m not.” “Let me see what I can find.” The man began to go through the place, watched by the boy with all eyes. He was a good-looking fellow, only his beard seemed a little too black and glossy to be natural, and the boy had an idea that it had never grown on his face. All at once the man turned and looked at Billy.