CHAPTER XXXVII.
CARTER’S ESCAPE.
We left Carter in durance in the dungeon where the strange explosion had taken place.
Truly the detective was in the direst straits, and he could not forget the writing on the wall.
He did not know who “Lewis Newell” was, and he did not stop to inquire.
The sentence said that Opal Lamont, the fair daughter of the millionaire, was responsible for the prisoner’s fate, and this set the detective to thinking.
Perhaps the house to which he had been decoyed belonged to Perry Lamont, like another house he knew of.
He recalled his visit to the nabob’s mansion, where he had confronted Opal, and he recalled as well her demeanor.
That she had revengeful blood he well knew.
Her beauty was tigerish.
But first of all the detective wanted to get out of the dark place, and he resolved that it should not hold him long.
How to get out was the question, but for all this he set about it with all his wits at work.
The singular odors arising from the bomb had not overcome him longer than a few minutes, and now the dungeon seemed fairly free of them.
Once more he went around the walls and sounded them again. He stooped where he had seen the flash of light as the bomb burst, and found that the wall had yielded.
A stone was loosened, and this gave him hope.
Beyond the wall must lie liberty.
With an energy born of despair Carter toiled until he had made a hole underneath the wall large enough to admit his body, and he did not hesitate to squeeze through it.
Beyond the wall sure enough lay freedom, for he felt the cool night air on his cheeks and found himself in a cramped back yard.
Out of durance at last, Carter breathed a prayer of thankfulness and filled up the hole.
He stood for some little time in the yard, and then cleared the fence which stood between him and the street.
Half an hour later he might have been seen to enter Bristol Clara’s house.
The woman uttered a cry as she saw him, and pulled him forward.
“Thank Heaven!” she cried; “but why didn’t you come sooner?”
“I couldn’t. Circumstances prevented,” said the detective, with a grim smile, which Bristol Clara did not understand.
“What’s happened, girl?”
“Murder!”
“Where?”
“There!”
The woman pointed across the room toward the next house and looked at Carter.
“Who committed it?” he asked.
“Claude Lamont.”
“Then they’re even,” was the detective’s answer.
Clara did not reply, but led the detective to the peephole, and bade him look.
The room beyond the partition was dimly lighted, but he could see its appointments and single tenant.
A man was stretched on the floor, silent and still.
“That’s the victim,” said the woman at his side.
“Who is he?”
“Perry Lamont.”
“And you say Claude did it? His son?”
“His son. I saw the whole affair.”
“Tell me all about it, Clara.”
Bristol Clara did so, and the detective listened without once interrupting the woman.
“I must see the man yonder,” said Nick.
“That’s easy. The house is tenanted only by the dead. You can easily get inside.”
It did not take Carter long to reach the room where Perry Lamont lay.
He raised the man’s head and saw the dark spot made by the murderous paper weight; then he lowered it again to the floor.
He searched the room thoroughly, and found more than one thing which told him that it had been one of Claude Lamont’s nests.
At last he rejoined Clara in the other house.
“Now for the round-up,” said he.
The woman looked at him, but did not speak.
“You once asked me who killed Mother Flintstone,” said Nick.
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do. You find out all these things. I never doubted that you would reach the end of this trail.”
“Well, woman, I can tell you now.”
Bristol Clara leaned forward, and Carter whispered a word into her ear.
“My God! you don’t mean that?” cried the woman, as she recoiled, with very little color in her face.
“Every word of it.”
“It cannot be.”
“It is true.”
“Then go and do your duty;” said she. “Don’t let the guilty escape, Mr. Carter.”
“I don’t intend to. I’ll see you later, Clara. Only keep a watch over the man in yonder. The murderer may come back. Perhaps it was self-defense, but he isn’t remorseful. It is murder all the same.”
The detective made his way from the house and to another part of the city. He had found in the desk a bit of paper, with a scrawled address thereon.
It was a certain number in Brooklyn, and inside the hour the detective was across the river.
It did not take him very long to reach the house, which he found darkened and silent, but his ring brought footsteps downstairs and to the door.
As the portal opened Carter caught sight of an old man’s face, and he addressed him.
“I desire to see Mr. Holden, your roomer.”
“He’s sound asleep, sir.”
“I must see him all the same. Which room does he occupy?”
The detective pushed forward, with one hand on the old man’s arm, and the old fellow seemed to suspect the truth.
“Don’t disturb my wife. She’s sick upstairs. You shall see Mr. Holden. I hope he isn’t a fugitive from justice, sir?”
There was no answer by the detective, for the old man opened a door and motioned Nick across another threshold.
As Carter entered the room a human figure sprang from a bed and stood on the carpet before him.
“How are you?” said the detective.
The reply he got was a snort like a sound from a restive tiger, and George Richmond, brought to bay, threw a swift glance toward the door.
“What’s wanting?” he demanded.
“I want you.”
“What for?”
“For conspiracy.”
The man before Carter seemed to catch his breath.
It was not so bad after all.
In fact, a grim smile appeared at the corners of his mouth and his look softened.
“Who are you?” he next asked.
“Come, you know me, George,” said the detective. “I’m not disguised.”
“Well, here I am.”
The half-dressed man stepped forward, but the moment Carter advanced a step he picked up a chair and with the fury of a maniac threw it above his head.
The old landlord behind the detective uttered a terrified cry and retreated, and as he held the only light there was, the room was wrapped in darkness.
Carter struck a match, and at the same time thrust forward his revolver.
But the match revealed nothing.
George Richmond was gone!
For half a minute Carter stood like a person in a dream, but a sudden cry from the old man aroused him.
“He’s crept under the bed, sir,” was the cry.
With a light laugh Carter sprang forward and caught hold of the foot he found.
The next moment a bullet whizzed past his head and then he dragged the rascal forth.
Lying on the floor, handcuffed, George Richmond looked up into Carter’s face and grinned.
“For conspiracy, eh?” he said. “That’s news to me.”
“It’s better for that than murder,” was the answer, and then Carter took his prisoner away.
“Now for the other birds,” said the detective, as he turned from the station house.
He proceeded uptown and, late as it was, rang the bell of the Lamont mansion.
For some time no one answered him, and then he heard footsteps inside.
“It’s Opal herself,” thought Carter, as he waited for the door to open.
Yes, it was the handsome daughter of the dead millionaire, and she maintained her composure as she looked into the detective’s face.
“It’s a late call, miss,” said Carter, as he stepped inside. “But it is a case of necessity. I’ve found your father.”
“Indeed?”
How terribly cool this girl was.
“Yes; he’s been found and will be home shortly.”
“That’s clever of you. I did not know you were looking for him. He went off a little unexpectedly, you see——”
“I understand. He is dead——”
“Father dead?”
It was a real start now, but in a moment Opal regained her composure.
“Miss Lamont, did you ever know a man named Lewis Newell?”
She fell back and seemed to gasp for breath.
“Lewis Newell?” she echoed, trying to become calm again. “I don’t know that I ever knew such a man.”
“You did not decoy him to a dungeon? You did not coolly let him perish there? I’ve read his last words on the wall, miss. I know that that is not your only crime!”
“It is false!”
She looked defiant and her eyes flashed.
“There’s another, miss,” continued Carter.
“You dare not say that again.”
“I say it again. There’s another crime. It is the greatest one of all.”
“What is it, pray?”
“The murder of Mother Flintstone!”