“Let him say what he likes,” muttered the young man, “I must have been mad to listen to him. Why—”
Harry Vine stopped short, for a thought had struck him like a flash.
How it was—why he should have such a suspicion he could not tell; but a terrible thought had seemed to burn into his brain. Then he felt paralysed as he shivered, and uttering an ejaculation full of rage and anger, he started off at a run toward Van Heldre’s place.
“Nonsense!” he said to himself, and he checked his headlong speed. “What folly!”
He walked on past a group of seamen, who had just quitted a public-house, and was about to turn up the lane which led to his home, when the thought came once more.
“Curse him!” he said, half aloud, “I’d sooner kill him,” and hurrying back, he made straight for the lane behind Van Heldre’s.
The gate yielded, he stepped down quickly into the yard, walked to the open door, looked to the right toward the hall, and then to the left toward the office. A dim light shone down the passage, and his heart seemed to stand still. The office door was open, and without hesitation he turned down the passage panting with horror, as he felt that his suspicions were confirmed. He crossed the outer room, the inner door was shut, and entering, he paused for a moment.
“Vic?” he whispered harshly.
All was still.
Trembling now with agitation, he was rapidly crossing to the safe when he stepped on something which gave beneath his feet, and he nearly fell headlong.