Читать книгу A Battle for Right; Or, A Clash of Wits онлайн

19 страница из 66

While Howard Milmarsh skimmed along at thirty miles an hour and more in the direction of New York, Nick was hurrying up to the Milmarsh mansion in the large, gray car that he generally used for his country excursions, and which had brought him to the Old Pike Inn that evening.

“Mr. Nick Carter would like to see you, sir,” announced a wooden-visaged servant in livery to the millionaire, not more than twenty minutes after the departure of his son. “He will not detain you long, he told me to say.”

“Show him in, of course!” ordered Milmarsh, arousing himself and preparing to receive his caller smilingly.

“Hello, Carter!” was his warm greeting. “I’m very glad to see you. Did you just run up from New York?”

“No,” was the grave reply. “I’ve been at the Old Pike Inn most of the evening. I came up to speak to you about your son Howard!”

The millionaire jumped forward and held up a hand close to the detective’s face to silence him, while an expression of agonized terror appeared on his haggard, aristocratic face.