He saw danger ahead, and his hands were bare of any weapon.
But suddenly he snatched up a glass paper weight from the desk, and launched it straight at his father’s face.
An arrow never went straighter to the mark than did the paper weight. It struck the millionaire fairly in the face, and he went down like a stricken ox.
On the carpet he gave a convulsive gasp and moved one arm; that was all.
“He invited it,” said Claude. “He forced it upon himself. They can’t blame me for this thing.”
Five minutes later he stood on the street, with the house darkened behind him and the glim of the lamps in his eyes.
He looked like Cain; the brand was on his brow.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
CARTER’S ESCAPE.
We left Carter in durance in the dungeon where the strange explosion had taken place.
Truly the detective was in the direst straits, and he could not forget the writing on the wall.