The coachman seemed to know where to go.
Carter had not heard the girl give him any orders, but he turned corner after corner, as if his destination was plain to him.
For at least ten minutes the vehicle bounced over the stones, and then it halted in front of a two-story brick house in the lower part of Gotham.
The detective looked out, and took in the contour of the house, and Opal opened the door of the cab.
“We’re here,” she said, speaking for the first time since leaving home, and in a moment she dismounted, to be followed by the nonplused detective.
The millionaire’s daughter led the way up the steps, and with a key opened the front door.
As she threw it back she motioned to the detective to enter, and Carter soon stood in a fireless parlor darkened by heavy curtains at the windows.
“I’ll see you in a moment,” said Opal, rushing toward the door, and the detective heard the sound of leather and silk on the stairs.
“This is a queer adventure,” thought Carter. “This must be one of the many houses Perry Lamont owns. The young woman is a cool-headed thing and seems to have the nerves her father has lost. Why has she brought me to this place? What new mystery is this? Ah! here she comes!”
There were footsteps in the hall, and the detective watched the door.