“That’s all right. I’m no seraph. Neither was Mother Flintstone, who died that night—you know how,” and with this shaft Rosy Larkins opened the door.
As he stepped into the hall his face was for a moment turned from Claude, and that moment the young man whipped a revolver from the table drawer.
As he started up there was a musical click, but the next instant the bare hand of Larkins covered him.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said. “The secret wouldn’t die with me, Mr. Lamont.”
The leveled weapon dropped and Claude went back again.
“Aha, good-by. Thanks for the chink. It saves Rosy Larkins from the river,” and the man with the squeaky voice was gone.
He went from the scene of the interview almost straight to Mulberry Street; he entered police headquarters and made his way to the superintendent’s private office, where he handed the roll of money to a young man.
“Lock it up,” said he. “We’ll talk about it later. I’m rather tired of this beard,” and Carter immediately stood revealed.
CHAPTER XXXI.
IN MOTHER FLINTSTONE’S DEN AGAIN.
The day following these exciting events George Richmond might have been seen bending over a manuscript in a small room some distance from Claude Lamont’s apartments.