“Put up your money. It’s blood money!” cried Nora. “I wouldn’t touch a penny of your father’s wealth. I don’t want money. I’ve got all I shall need.” “Then you’re going but a short distance?” “Yes; not far.” The last word seemed to come from between clenched teeth, and a desperate look settled on the woman’s face. “Then here’s to you, Nora, and good luck go with you,” and Lamont held out his hand. She pushed it away, with a look of disdain. “It’s like your money. There’s blood on it, too!” she exclaimed. “Some day you’ll wish you had never had anything to do with this game of crime. Good-by.” She sprang up, gave him another look and vanished. “She’s mad, but it’s all right. She will try the river,” he laughed. CHAPTER XXVII. FOUND IN THE TIDE. After the scene the detective had witnessed through Bristol Clara’s assistance he made his way to another part of the city and entered a little house, where he was confronted by Billy, the street rat. The detective wanted to ascertain if the boy had picked up anything new, and his first words startled him. “They didn’t burn her up, Mr. Carter.” “Didn’t burn who up, Billy?” “Margie, you know.” The detective as yet had heard nothing of the fire at which Margie Marne nearly lost her life, and he lost no time questioning Billy. The boy had heard of the fire through a fireman, and had gone direct to the hospital, where he had held an interview with the girl herself. “I’ll see her, too,” said Nick. “This is important, Billy, and Margie must be seen.” Imagine the astonishment of the girl when she saw Carter walking up the aisle toward her. A smile of pleasure overspread her face, and she held out her hand. “This is indeed a great pleasure,” cried Margie. “We’ve been sending after you, and just when we give you up here you come. I’ve been within the shadow of death.” “So Billy told me.” “I wonder if Nora, my jaileress, escaped?” “We will find that out by and by. Tell me the whole story, Margie, and then we will see what can be done.” The girl proceeded, and gave the detective the entire story of her adventures while in the hands of Claude Lamont and under Nora’s care, and Nick listened attentively. “I think I can locate your jaileress,” said he, at the end of Margie’s narrative. “Do so. She didn’t treat me badly, only she was true to her master. She started at the mention of your name, though.” “Did she?” smiled Carter. “It drove every vestige of color from her face.” “She’s met me somewhere, then,” said the detective. “I want to see Nora.” Half an hour later the detective reached the scene of the fire, and looked upon the ruins of Margie’s prison. The house had been entirely destroyed, and some of the neighbors seemed glad that it was so. “None of us liked the tall, dark-faced woman, with the little, red scar over her left eye,” said a woman who lived near the place, and whom the detective addressed. “What did you call her?”