Strangely enough, the wagon kept a course directly to a residence section at once fashionable and quiet, and hardly the possible location of a coal yard or the home, either, of a humble employee thereof.
One of the men in the wagon, the fellow with the hoarse whisper, left the vehicle in a square marked by a tall column with a statue on top, while the driver continued the urging of his horses up the ever ascending street.
Gaining the level above, the horses were given their own heads, which meant a snail's pace. Close at hand were two towers of considerable height.
While the horses plodded on the highroad stretching to the west, pressure on their bits was lacking. The wagon was empty.
Two figures appeared on the terrace back of the twin towers, these terraces rising in tiers from the bank of the fast-flowing river below.
"You left Ricker in the square?" This question put by the man who evidently had just returned from a mission that did not include a ride in a coal wagon.
"He left me, rather," replied the late driver, with a touch of grim humor.
The first speaker held a watch in his hand, consulting it frequently, holding it closer and closer to his eyes as the light faded before the advance of night's shadows.
"Seven o'clock," he announced. "Another hour."
This was the last notation of time by the watch holder.