The detective turned and looked him in the face. “You have been to Hell’s Kitchen,” said the detective, as coolly as if he addressed a man in the chief’s private room, instead of where he was. “That’s news to me,” laughed the listener, as his face seemed to lose color. “What business would I have in that delectable locality?” “Never mind that. You went there.” “Who says so?” “The person who saw you.” “You?” “The person who saw you,” repeated the detective, with emphasis, as he watched the man like a hawk. “Well, what of it?” “You sounded the walls.” “In Hell’s Kitchen?” “Yes, in Mother Flintstone’s den.” “Why, she’s dead.” “That’s true. You went to her house and sounded the walls. You examined the floor and looked closely at the ceiling.” The fellow seemed to grow desperate. “What if I did?” he growled. “You lost something there.” The man started. “Don’t you know that a man bent on evil always leaves a clew behind?” “That’s an old story, but they don’t always do that. In the first place, you have nothing to prove that I went to Mother Flintstone’s den. I defy you.” One of Carter’s hands vanished into a pocket, and came out with a small card between thumb and finger. “You left this there,” said he, coolly, displaying the bit of pasteboard. The other fastened his eyes upon the card for a moment, and then glared at Carter. “Supposing all this is true,” he said; “what are you going to make out of it?” “You went there after something the old woman is supposed to have concealed in the den. That is why you searched the walls, George Richmond. Did you do it for your friend, or was it all done on your own hook?” “For my friend?” “Yes, for the friend you serve--the money king’s heir.” At this there was a sudden start, and Richmond looked toward the door. “You are taking desperate chances in order to keep up your reputation as a detective,” he said at last. “I never thought you would resort to this. I know you. I know that you are Nick Carter, the detective, but with all your shrewdness you can’t hoodwink me.” With this the speaker moved toward the door and laid his hand upon the knob. Before Carter could cross the room he saw the door flung open, and the man sprang out into the hall. The portal was slammed in Carter’s face, and a key turned in the lock. All this was the work of a second, and he heard the feet of the other on the stairs without. As for himself, he was a prisoner in the room. The gas burning overhead revealed the place to him, and he went back and stood for a little while at the table. He felt that Richmond was already on the street below and out of sight. “I must follow that villain,” said Nick, and again he was at the door. All his strength could not move the portal, and then he threw himself against it, but still it would not yield. Other doors had fallen before his assaults, but this one seemed built of adamant, and he drew back out of breath, but by no means discouraged.