Back to the fireplace he turned, hung up the kris again on its hooks, glanced around to assure himself he had left no traces of his robbery. He closed the door of the safe, spun the knob, and in the desk-drawer replaced the slip of paper bearing the combination.
“I guess I’ve fixed things so they’ll hold a while now,” judged he. “God, what a place—what people! Spies, all spies! They’re all spying on me here. And Laura’s giving me the laugh, too. Maybe I won’t show them all a thing or two!”
He listened a moment, and, satisfied, opened the door into the front hall. To all appearances the coast was free. He snatched a cap, jammed it upon his head, and, hunching into an old raincoat, quietly left the house.
The Airedale would have followed him, but with the menace of an upraised fist he sent it back. Through the gate he went, and turned toward the right, in the direction of Hadlock’s Cove, where dwelt Jim Gordon, owner of the Kittiwink.
In his ears the wind, ever-rising, and the shouting of the quick-lashed surf along the rocks joined with the slash of the rain to make a chorus glad and mighty, to which his heart expanded. On and on he strode, exultant, filled with evil devisings of a mind half mad in the lusts of strength and passion. And as he went he held communion with himself:
“I’ll beat ’em to it—and devil take anything that stands in my way! To hell with them—to hell with everything that goes against me!”
CHAPTER XXXIV
SELF-SACRIFICE