He slipped away to the kitchen with his noiseless, catlike tread, and Storm glanced uneasily toward the corner where the bag lay. Could Homachi have seen it from where he stood in the doorway?
He gulped his coffee hastily when it was prepared, keeping the valet busy with trivial services lest he enter the bedroom. The man held his coat for him, presented his hat and stick and then stood waiting to usher him out. Confound the fellow’s obsequiousness! Was he waiting purposely to spy upon him? Inwardly fuming, Storm turned with an assumed start toward the desk in the living-room.
“Forgot those papers!” he muttered for the other’s benefit, adding carelessly: “Go ahead and clear up the breakfast things, Homachi. By the way, I shall not be home until late. You may go this afternoon at the usual hour.”
Homachi bowed and departed while Storm made a pretense of rummaging through the papers on the desk. How rocky his nerves were! He must pull himself together, he must be prepared to face the risk of the next hour.——That fellow was dawdling unconscionably! Would he ever clear out?
At last Storm heard the sound of running water in the kitchen and the subdued clatter of dishes. He tiptoed into the bedroom, seized the bag, and holding it under his coat made for the door.
Luck was with him! The telephone operator sat at the switchboard with his back squarely turned, and the elevator had ascended. The way was clear!
Closing the door behind him Storm walked briskly down the hall and out into the sunshine, swinging the bag casually in plain view. It seemed to him to be increasing in dimension and weight at every step, to be growing to colossal size, dragging his arm from its socket! He had purposely chosen an early rush hour when clerks and shop people would be hurrying to their work, but he felt that the eyes of every passer-by were fastened upon him, boring into the burden that he carried.
Suppose Horton had been followed on the previous night after all by some emissary of the company whose funds were in his charge? In spite of the heat of the morning, the thought brought a cold sweat out upon Storm’s brow. Horton had boasted volubly of the trust reposed in him; but what if, unknown to him, the company had placed a guard or checker upon him? Surely it would not be unusual when a man was carrying sums of such magnitude in cash? Suppose the watcher had lost sight of him at the terminal the night before; was Storm running too great a risk by returning to the same station? If the fellow were hanging about and should recognize the bag——!
A thousand wild apprehensions flashed through his brain, but he fought them back resolutely. He must get rid of the bag at once, and boldness was his best course. Every moment that he retained it in his possession increased his danger, and he could not trail over the town with it in broad day. Even now the body might have been discovered and identified and messages might be humming back and forth from Pennsylvania to New York raising the alarm for the bag and its precious contents. He could not hesitate; he must go on!
The subway express train was crowded to the doors with a heterogeneous mass of the city’s toilers, and Storm wedged himself on the platform of one of the rearward cars among a group of laborers and clerks, hoping fervently that he might escape recognition before he reached his destination. Remembering the loaded pistol, he guarded the bag as well as he was able from the jostling throng, his heart in his mouth at every lurch of the speeding train. He was glad that he had not thought to remove the cartridges, for he might have left fingerprints in handling the weapon; but his nervousness increased as he neared his station. Dared he trust a porter? Suppose the bag were dropped——