They, too, had been waiting.
Thousands there were in the great city whose eyes glistened that night,—thousands who had not been waiting, for they knew nothing of the secret that lay secure and safe in the breasts of the few who were allowed to strike. Thousands who rejoiced, for they knew that a great and glorious deed had been done! They only knew that devastation had fallen somewhere with appalling force,—it mattered not to them where, so long as it had fallen in its appointed place!
Many a glass, many a stein, was raised in stealthy tribute to the hand that had rocked the city of New York! And in the darkness of the night they hid their gloating faces, and whispered a song without melody.
Rich man, poor man, beggar-man, thief! In spirit, at least, they touched hands and thrilled with a common exaltation!
It was after one o'clock when the Carstairs' motor crept out of the ferry-house at 130th Street, and whirled up the hill toward the Drive. A rough-looking individual who loitered unmolested in the lee of the ferry-house, peered intently at the number of the car as it passed, and jotted it down in a little book. He noted in the same way the license numbers of other automobiles. When he was relieved hours afterward, he had in his little book the number of every car that came in from Jersey between half past eleven at night and seven o'clock in the morning. It was not his duty to stop or question the occupants of these cars. He was merely exercising the function of the mysterious Secret Eyes of the United States Government.
Mr. and Mrs. Carstairs were admitted to their Park Avenue apartment by a tall, beautiful girl, who threw open the door the instant the elevator stopped at the floor.
“Thank goodness!” she cried, a vibrant note of relief in her voice “We were so dreadfully—”
“What are you doing up, Louise?” cried Mrs. Carstairs quickly. Her husband frowned, as with annoyance.
“Where is Hodges?” he demanded. He stood stock-still for a moment before following his wife into the foyer.
“He went out some time ago to get an 'extra.' The boys were in the street calling new ones. He asked if he might go out. How—how terrible it is, Uncle Dawy. And it was so near the Club, I—I—oh, I was dreadfully worried. The papers say the shells fell miles away—Why, I couldn't go to bed, Aunt Frieda. We have been trying for hours to get the Club on the telephone.” She was assisting Mrs. Carstairs in removing her rich chinchilla coat. Carstairs studied the girl's white face with considerable anxiety as he threw off his own fur coat. The worried frown deepened.