“What, what, my boy? where now in such a squally hurry? Hallo, I say!”
But without heeding him at all, Pierre drove on. Millthorpe looked anxiously and alarmedly after him a moment, then made a movement in pursuit, but paused again.
“There was ever a black vein in this Glendinning; and now that vein is swelled, as if it were just one peg above a tourniquet drawn over-tight. I scarce durst dog him now; yet my heart misgives me that I should.—Shall I go to his rooms and ask what black thing this is that hath befallen him?—No; not yet;—might be thought officious—they say I’m given to that. I’ll wait; something may turn up soon. I’ll into the front street, and saunter some; and then—we’ll see.”
V.
PIERRE passed on to a remote quarter of the building, and abruptly entered the room of one of the Apostles whom he knew. There was no one in it. He hesitated an instant; then walked up to a book-case, with a chest of drawers in the lower part.
“Here I saw him put them:—this,—no—here—ay—we’ll try this.”
Wrenching open the locked drawer, a brace of pistols, a powder flask, a bullet-bag, and a round green box of percussion-caps lay before him.
“Ha! what wondrous tools Prometheus used, who knows? but more wondrous these, that in an instant, can unmake the topmost three-score-years-and-ten of all Prometheus’ makings. Come: here’s two tubes that’ll outroar the thousand pipes of Harlem.—Is the music in ’em?—No?—Well then, here’s powder for the shrill treble; and wadding for the tenor; and a lead bullet for the concluding bass! And,—and,—and,—ay; for the top-wadding, I’ll send ’em back their lie, and plant it scorching in their brains!”
He tore off that part of Glen and Fred’s letter, which more particularly gave the lie; and halving it, rammed it home upon the bullets.