He would go the following morning. It would look suspicious to go too soon. This was his plan, and he had only to wait quietly; but quiet he could not be.
How was Bertha getting on in that lonely house? Could he trust the cabman? Was there some fault in his plan, some weak point in the tale he meant to tell? So his mind dwelt and doubted. It was about six o’clock in the evening that, carelessly turning over the evening paper, he came to the following—
TEN POUNDS REWARD.—If the cabman who drove a lady and gentleman from the Golden Bar last evening will call on Alexander Booth, King Street, he will receive the above. No foolish questions asked.
“My God!” cried Huey, “I have no time to lose! That devil will be on my track. Why did I trust the cabman? Why did I not follow Soft Sam’s advice, always to work alone? Never mind, there is time yet. To-night or to-morrow morning, what does it matter, I will take some tools and be off.”
In five minutes a bundle already prepared was in his hand, and he was seated in a cab, speeding rapidly to the eastern suburbs. He was nearly at his destination when he signalled the driver to stop. Getting out he bade him wait. Proceeding on foot he came to the solitary cottage. Avoiding the front entrance, he walked along the side fence, climbed it, and approached a window covered on the outside with venetian shutters.
“Are you there, Bertha?” he whispered, poking a stick through the shutters and tapping the glass.
No answer.
“Are you there, Bertha?” he cried, still louder.
Still no response. With a cloud of anxiety on his face he hastily took a short crowbar from his bundle, prized open the shutters, prized open the window, and stepped in. With one glance he had eyed every nook and corner of the room.
It was empty.