“No. But he died by an accident—after he had quite recovered from the blow you gave him. It was only a knock-out. He came to in a few minutes. You were scared unnecessarily. Now you will come into your own.”
“But—my father? Ah, yes! I know! My poor father!”
Tears—real, comforting, natural tears—flowed from his eyes. They would have proved, if there had been nothing else, that Howard Milmarsh was again himself, and that he was prepared to face whatever might be his fate.
Nick Carter turned away, to see what Bonesy was doing to the prostrate, cursing Louden Powers.
“Take him away, Billings. Lock him up in a cellar, till the police come.”
As Bonesy Billings promptly obeyed, by yanking Louden Powers to his feet as if he had been a sack of oats, Andrew Lampton exclaimed, in a terrified tone:
“Police? Have you sent for the police?”
Nick waited till Louden Powers was out of the room. Then he went close to Lampton, and spoke to him quietly:
“Look here, Lampton. I promised that if you brought T. Burton Potter to me, I would do something for you. I will keep my word by giving you half an hour’s start of the police. Get out! I’d advise you to get over the Canadian border as soon as you can do it. Don’t ever show up in New York again. If you do. I won’t answer for the consequences. Understand?”
Andrew Lampton did understand. He was out of the house almost before the detective had finished speaking.