“Looks to me as if this game were about up,” commented Lampton, as he handed over the bundle of papers. “There they are! Just as I got them from the trunk. I’ll have to depend on your good nature now.”
“If you help me with this case, I’ll wipe everything off the slate to date,” replied Nick. “Of course, what you may do afterward is at your own risk.”
“I’ll go and see Powers,” promised Lampton, rising from his chair. “But I don’t believe he knows where Potter is. By the way, what earthly use is T. Burton Potter to you, if he is not the real Howard Milmarsh?”
“I think Potter knows where Howard is,” answered Flint. “He is a pretty slick scoundrel, and can keep a secret. But I think I can swing some influence with him, considering what I have found out about him.”
“Ah! I tumble,” laughed Lampton. “Another thing I wanted to ask you. When you were chasing him so hard on the night of the raid, didn’t you, honest, believe he was the real Howard Milmarsh?”
“I did at first. I’ve already told you that.”
“And when did you find out that he wasn’t?”
“That’s my own private business,” rejoined the detective. “Report to me here to-morrow night. That’s all.”
He pointed to the door as a sign of dismissal.
“You’re not afraid that I’ll work up some scheme against you, or beat it for parts unknown?” asked Lampton, smiling. “You seem to feel sure I’ll obey your orders.”