"I told you—it would work!" cried LeCroix.
. . . . . . . .
I did not argue any further with Craig about his sudden resolution to go away. But it is a very solemn proceeding to pack up and admit defeat after such a brilliant succession of cases as had been his until we met this master criminal.
He was unshakeable, however, and the next morning we closed the laboratory and loaded our baggage, which was considerable, on a taxicab.
Neither of us said much, but I saw a quick look of appreciation on Craig's face as we pulled up at the wharf and saw that the Dodge car was already there. He seemed deeply moved that Elaine should come at such an early hour to have a last word.
Our cab stopped and Kennedy moved over toward her car, directing two
porters, whom I noticed that he chose with care, to wait at one side.
One of them was an old Irishman with a slight limp; the other a wiry
Frenchman with a pointed beard.
In spite of her pleadings, however, Kennedy held to his purpose and, as we shook hands for the last time, I thought that Elaine would almost break down.
"Here, you fellows, now," directed Craig, turning brusquely to the porters, "hustle that baggage right aboard."
"Can't we go on the ship, too?" asked Elaine, appealingly.
"I'm sorry—I'm afraid there isn't time," apologized Craig.