How every circumstance had played into his hands! The remarkable coincidence of their meeting, the need of caution on Horton’s part which had prevented their taking a taxicab, prevented the establishment of any clue which would lead to this apartment on the Drive! From the moment when Horton stepped from the train until sooner or later his body would be discovered up there among the bushes above the rail road track which skirted the Hudson, there would be a blank which the most astute detectives in the world could not fill in! The bag and its contents would be discovered and identified in time, of course, but the treasure which it had contained would never be traced; it would seep out gradually through the vast market places of the world in exchange for the good things of life!
Horton’s easy surrender to the proffered hospitality, the fortuitous clearing away of the storm which made that nocturnal stroke possible, the accident of the rain-soaked hat which had necessitated a change to headgear that offered no protection from that blow——all these had contributed miraculously to the result; but had it not been for Storm’s instant conception of the masterly scheme, his nerve and cleverness in carrying it out, his foresight in arranging for every possible contingency, the money would within a few short hours have been forever beyond his reach! Such chances come to but few men and then only once in a life-time; yet what man but he would have had the genius to grasp it!
Remorse? He choked back a laugh that rose in his throat at the very thought. What did it matter that a clod like Horton had dropped out of existence? Yet somehow Storm could not quite dispel the memory of that shrunken, inert figure slumped helplessly against the wall; he could not quite close his ears to that good-natured voice prattling of the trust reposed in him, of the love of the girl who was “aces high”.
Bah! Was he getting squeamish now? One could only rise on the shoulders of another, and it had been the way of the world through countless ages that the strong, the ruthless, the resourceful should triumph! There had been something dog-like about Horton’s unaffected pleasure at their meeting, his unquestioning acceptance of the hospitality offered, the gusto with which he relished the unaccustomed luxuries, his open-hearted affection and confidence. . . .
Storm thumped his pillow viciously. Dogs had been kicked from the path before and would be again! There, within reach of his hand behind the panel lay the price of all that he asked of the future! A little more of George Holworthy’s puttering solicitude, of Nicholas Langhorne’s sleek patronage and domineering authority, a week or two still perhaps of the mask of mourning, the treadmill of the office, the dodging of hypocritical, unctuous sympathy over Leila’s loss; and then freedom! Freedom at last and the wide world in which to forget it all!
Chapter XVII.
Missing
When Homachi, usually as punctual as a time-clock, arrived twenty minutes late in the morning he found his employer already risen and attired for the day. His elaborate protestations of apology were summarily cut short.
“That’s all right, Homachi, only get me some coffee. I’m in a devil of a hurry this morning.” Storm checked himself. “Er—I cooked a bite for myself last night and rather messed up things, but I fancy you can find enough left for breakfast.”
Homachi’s slant eyes widened.
“Any time you want me I stay, sir,” he declared reproachfully. “I please cook dinner. Unhappy cars no run this morning, sir. I hurry coffee——”