“Caddy” hoped to be released without being forced to tell the truth, but the detective had no idea of doing this. He actually pulled Caddy over the counter, to the amusement of the few people in the place at the time, and, putting his ear close to the barkeeper’s, he said: “The truth or Sing Sing. Take your choice!” This seemed to have a wonderful effect at once. The detective escorted Caddy down the sawdusted aisle and pushed him into the first stall. “Where did they go?” he asked. Caddy was very meek now, and his voice trembled as he spoke. “They went out the back entrance,” he said. “Both of them?” “Yes.” “How was the girl?” “I don’t know.” “Did she seem to go willingly with the man?” “I don’t think she did.” “Was there a cab in the alley out there?” “Yes.” For a moment Carter looked daggers at the little scoundrel, his indignation fast rising, but he kept his temper as he said: “You were that man’s agent. You fixed my drinks at his suggestion or command.” “He paid me for it.” “But how did he designate me?” “He told me to fix the gentleman at a certain table--that’s all I know.” “Look here! You’ve played a cool hand for a great villain, and if anything happens to the girl I’ll hold you, in part, responsible. Who was the man?” “I don’t know.” “You do know,” cried Carter, and again his hand fell upon Caddy’s shoulder. “You didn’t do all this for a total stranger. They don’t do such things in the Trocadero. You know that man! Now who was he?” The little man could not avoid the sharp eyes of the best detective in New York, and he felt the hand on his shoulder grow more viselike as the question was put. “Tell me. That or Sing Sing!” said Carter. “He’s a rich bloke’s son,” answered Caddy. “That’s not enough. Who is he? You know!” “They call him Claude Lamont.” CHAPTER XX. AN INCORRUPTIBLE DETECTIVE. “Ha, ha,” laughed Nick to himself. “So Mr. Lamont is playing a nice little hand. We’ll see about it,” and then he turned his attention again to the man he had in tow. “He told you to dose me, did he?” Caddy nodded. “Did he say why?” “No.” “But he was anxious to have me drugged?” “He seemed so.” “Now, don’t you know where he took the girl?” The little barkeeper of the Trocadero shook his head in a solemn manner, and Carter felt that he was in earnest. “He hasn’t been back since?” he asked. “No.” The detective went to the back entrance of the place and saw where a cab had stood. Beyond doubt this was the vehicle in which Margie Marne had disappeared with Claude Lamont, and after looking the ground over without finding an additional clew, Carter went back. It might be hard to track the cab, as there were hundreds in the city, and under the influence of Claude’s money the drivers would not like to betray a good customer. The detective put this and that together, and in a short time he might have been seen on the front steps of the Lamont mansion.