Carter knew him at once.
It was Claude Lamont.
The detective had a good chance to study the young man’s features, and he could note how eager he seemed to greet some one. He was not kept long in suspense when the door leading to the main hall opened and some one entered.
“George Richmond—my old friend,” smiled Nick, as he watched the other one. “He gave me the slip in the tall building, and now greets his old chum, Claude.”
“You’re a little behind,” said Claude, looking at his friend. “You must have had an adventure.”
“That’s just what I’ve had,” laughed the other, taking a cigar from the open box on the table at Lamont’s elbow. “Say I didn’t play it on the shrewdest old ferret in the city, will you?”
“On a detective? What, have you had a bout with one of those people?”
“Haven’t I? I left him in durance, and it will be some time before he gets out, I’m thinking.”
“Come, tell the whole story. I’ve had a little adventure myself,” exclaimed Lamont. “You don’t mean to say that you’ve had a little episode with our friend Carter?”
“With no one else.”