But when he went, she followed him to the door and said the words she had refused him when he had first told her he had taken the burden upon his shoulders.
"God speed you!" she said. "I will try to believe."
His plan was to go to his room, pack his case securely, and then carry it with him to the station in time to meet the late train he had decided on taking.
He let himself into the Works as usual, and found his way along the passage in the darkness, though he carried his lantern. He knew his way so well that he did not need it there. But when he reached Haworth's room and put out his hand to open the door, he stopped. His touch met no resistance, for the door was wide open. The discovery was so sharp a shock to him that for a few seconds he remained motionless. But he recovered himself in a second or so more. It might have been the result of carelessness, after all; so he turned on his light and went into his cell and began his task. It did not take him long. When he had finished, the wooden case was simply a solid square brown parcel which might have contained anything. He glanced at his watch and sat down a minute or so.
"There is no use in going too early," he said. And so he waited a little, thinking mechanically of the silence inside and the darkness out, and of the journey which lay before him. But at last he got up again and took his burden by the cord he had fastened about it.
"Now," he said, "it is time."
At the very moment the words left his lips there was a sound outside the door, and a rush upon him; he was seized by the throat, flung backward into the chair he had left, and held there. He made no outcry. His first thought when he found himself clutched and overpowered was an incongruous one of Briarley sitting on the road-side and looking up at him in panic-stricken appeal. He understood in a flash what his terror had meant.
The fellow who held him by the collar—there were three of them, and one was Reddy—shook him roughly.
"Wheer is it?" he said. "You know whatten we've coom for, my lad."
Murdoch was conscious of a little chill which passed over him, but otherwise he could only wonder at his own lack of excitement. No better place to finish a man than such a one as this at dead of night, and there was not one of the three who had not evil in his eye; but he spoke without a tremor in his voice,—with the calmness of being utterly without stay or help.