Those other ashes had been symbolic of his deed and vanished at a mere gesture; these were the concrete evidences of Horton’s presence beneath his roof and yet might be as easily dispelled.
With a quick movement he pressed the button of the living-room switch, plunging the room in semi-gloom. Then, by the faint light which came in from the hallway, he made his way to the window and opened it. Not a soul in sight, not a sound save the rustle of the wind in the trees across the drive!
Storm caught up the tray from the table and gripping it firmly flung its contents far outward with all his strength lest any of the cigar stumps fall upon the sidewalk or in the gutter directly before him. On the instant the wind rose in a sweeping gust, and it seemed to him that he could see the gray handful spread out in a haze and swirl away into the void of night.
There stole over him once more that glow of achievement, as of some strange and pagan ritual performed, and he was closing the window when again there came the lingering, challenging, deep-throated note of a ship’s fog horn upon the river. He shivered, in spite of himself, for to his distorted imagination it held no longer a wail as of a passing soul; rather, it sounded a menace and a warning, an awesome portent of doom.
Chapter XVI.
The Second Vigil
With an almost physical effort Storm flung off the vague, harrowing suggestion which had laid itself upon him; and shrouding the window carefully with its curtains he turned on the lights once more, and glanced at the tall clock in the corner.
Quarter past two! Scarcely an hour had passed since, he and Horton had left that room to start upon the little stroll which was to end so momentously for them both. For Horton it meant obliteration, the end of all things, but for him the beginning of a new life, a life which should begin with no memories, which should be crammed so full of color and motion and excitement that thought itself would be crowded out!
The money! He must know that it was still there even though he dared not lose himself in the joy of contemplation of it until every last trace of the visitor’s presence had been removed.
He turned to the closet and halted suddenly. There on the settee before him lay Horton’s felt hat, shapeless and sodden and somehow oddly pathetic. Storm put the womanish thought from him and gazed at the storm-battered object in momentary disquietude. He must get rid of it in some way, but that would resolve itself later. Now he must assure himself that the prize for which he had risked all was within his grasp.
With eager, trembling fingers he produced the key, opened the closet door and felt about on the shelf. Horton had hidden the bag well, poor confident fool! He had made sure that none but knowing hands should seek out its hiding-place.——There it was! Storm felt the grained surface of the leather, the hard, square edges of the packets which bulged its sides, and a light of exultation gleamed in his eyes. His! All his! That afternoon, a few short hours before, he had been the most miserable, hopeless of men, and now, through his courage, his resourcefulness and cunning, he had changed the face of destiny!