The reply he got was a snort like a sound from a restive tiger, and George Richmond, brought to bay, threw a swift glance toward the door.
“What’s wanting?” he demanded.
“I want you.”
“What for?”
“For conspiracy.”
The man before Carter seemed to catch his breath.
It was not so bad after all.
In fact, a grim smile appeared at the corners of his mouth and his look softened.
“Who are you?” he next asked.
“Come, you know me, George,” said the detective. “I’m not disguised.”