Nick ran hurriedly upstairs, and, as he turned from the landing, Patsy stepped out of a room and caught his sleeve. “Anything happened here since I left you, Patsy?” whispered Nick. “Not a thing of any consequence.” “You understand what’s to be done?” “Yes.” “Miss Lansing knows the signal.” Nick passed into the study, closing the door after him. Montgomery, a harassed and apprehensive look on his face, sat in the chair before his desk. He turned his startled eyes on Nick as the latter entered. “What does this farce mean?” he demanded, making a great effort to regain his composure. “It means that I shall pose as Horace Montgomery for a few hours.” “What sort of a crooked game are you attempting to play?” “It is not crooked.” “Who in the fiend’s name are you, anyway?” “Nicholas Carter.” Montgomery had started to rise, but at the sound of that name he sank back with glassy eyes. “You--you----” he faltered. “What are you doing here?” “I came to have a little talk with you. Could you load a few cigarettes for me, Mr. Montgomery?” Had a bomb exploded at Montgomery’s feet he could not have been more startled than he was then. He sprang forward in his chair and stared at the great detective as one fascinated. “When you speculated with the money belonging to John and Louise Lansing, why did you not tell them?” Montgomery’s white lips moved but gave no sound. “After you lost that money, why have you tried to make your wards believe that you were going to invest it in the Royal Ophir mine?” The guardian swallowed a lump in his throat, and his face was as white as a sheet. “Did you want to make it appear that you had invested it in a salted mine, after an investigation that was seemingly sincere, and had lost it in that way?” No answer came from the pallid wretch in the chair. “What was to be your share of the money to be secured from Cooper and Bingham?” Still no answer. “Horace Montgomery, you are a thief!” CHAPTER XIII. A NECESSARY CRUELTY. Nick was on his feet in front of the cowering man, pointing one finger at him. Montgomery merely writhed in his seat, but did not say a word. “But that is not the worst,” went on the detective, mercilessly. “You know that your nephew, John Lansing, started for Boston on Monday night, by the Fall River boat.” Nick drew back to the library table and picked up a book that lay there. “You told Yasmar--or Ramsay, to give him his real name--that John Lansing was going to Boston to talk with Cooper and Bingham in the attempt to dissuade them from making that investment in the Royal Ophir mine. “He took the same boat that Lansing boarded. “At midnight, out in the Sound, they had a talk, angry words were passed, Ramsay struck Lansing on the head in a moment of passion and flung him into the sea----” “It’s a lie!” cried Montgomery, hoarsely. “It’s the truth!”