He had failed utterly. He had reconnoitered the home of a plain, simple-minded inhabitant, who lived in poverty in this cabin, and was as innocent of stealing a child as Harvey Hamilton himself.
A faint hope held Pendar where he was for a brief while longer. It might be that the abductors had made their home in this cabin, whose owner and wife were under their domination and employ. But brief reflection showed the officer that no supposition could be more preposterous. He backed from the window, careless now whether discovered or not, threaded his course to the trail over which he had come with so much care, and started on his return to Chesterton.
“Josh Billings once said it is so easy for a man to be a fool that he can do so without knowing it. The difference in my case is that I know it; I’m mighty glad that none of the boys will ever hear of it.”
Bitter as were his reflections they brightened as he strode over the trail, to the highway leading to the hotel. Something like hope returned to him.
“I have reason to believe that the gang is somewhere in that big stretch of woods. Young Hamilton mistook the building, which can’t be far off. I have learned enough to be sure on that point.”
But there was no escaping the terrifying truth that the time which remained for him to work out any scheme he might formulate was reduced to hours instead of days. If by midnight of the next day he was still confronted by failure, he was pledged to board the westward bound train with his bag containing fifty thousand dollars, and to throw it off at a point that had been so clearly described that there could be no mistaking it.
“It looks as if that is all that’s left,” he muttered in the bitterness of spirit, “it’s an infernal shame, but I see little hope of any other issue.”
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE SEARCH RENEWED.
Harvey Hamilton was in the middle of an odd dream, in which a big Irishman was swinging a tremendous hammer and bringing it down on the top of his head with every stroke. The sentiment of wonder is always absent in the visions which come to us in sleep, no matter how incongruous they may be, but the youth came very near feeling surprised at the thickness of a skull that could withstand so terrific attacks.
By and by the slumber lifted and Harvey’s senses came back. He was wide awake and conscious that some one was tapping gently outside. He sprang out of bed and turned the key. As if automatically, the door swung inward and revealed Detective Pendar in the dim gaslight. He stepped within and secured the lock behind him.