“Possibly. But it will make Howard safer. Now, I know you would do anything for Howard or his father. We have been friends too long for me to doubt that. But I like to do matters of business in a businesslike way. Therefore I have provided that you shall receive five per cent of the value of the whole estate when Howard takes legal possession. Will that be satisfactory?”
“Satisfactory?” repeated Nick. “Why, you are rated at ten million dollars—perhaps more. Five per cent of that would be——”
“Never mind about figuring it up,” interrupted Howard Milmarsh, smiling wanly. “You will accept the trust?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, old friend! I felt sure you would. I hope I shall hear something about my boy by the morning.”
“You shall if I can do anything to bring it about,” said Nick, rising. “I am going to New York now, and I think I know about all the places in which Howard is likely to take refuge in the great city of light.”
He went over to Milmarsh and shook hands. It struck the detective that the millionaire’s hands had never been quite so thin before, and that he had never noted such a weary look in the hollow eyes. But he made no comment, of course.
“Good night,” he called out from the door. “I’ll telephone the house as soon as I find the boy. Good night!”
“Good night!” was the response. “I’ll have some of the servants take the message. I’m going to bed. I feel that I need rest—a long rest!”
Nick Carter had not reached the bottom of the hill leading from the Milmarsh mansion to the State road, when he saw the lights of a car coming toward them, and he knew it must be the car in which young Howard had gone to New York.