There had lately appeared the old, uncanny light in Hawkins' eye; and if trouble were impending, it was my fond, foolish hope to be out of its way—until such time, at least, as the police or the coroner should call me up on the telephone to identify all that was mortal of Hawkins.
Three days, then, my strategy had been crowned with success. I had eluded Hawkins and ridden down alone, the serene enjoyment of my paper unpunctuated by dissertations upon the practicability of condensing the clouds for commercial purposes, or the utilization of atmospheric nitrogen in the manufacture of predigested breakfast food.
But upon the fourth morning a fuse blew out under the car before we left the station; and as I sat there fussing about the delay, in walked Hawkins.
He was beaming and cheerful, but the glitter in his eye had grown more intense.
“Ah, Griggs,” he exclaimed, “I've missed you lately!”
“I hope you haven't lost weight over it?”
“Well, no. I've been busy—very busy.”
“Rush of business?”
“Um—ah—yes. Griggs!”
It was coming!