Storm himself drank more than was his wont, but his brain remained clear and became if anything more coolly, keenly critical. It was evident that Millard had something which he was eager to impart, but an unusual caution weighed upon him. Was it merely a theory of his own concerning the murder, or had he really succeeded in learning anything at Headquarters which had been withheld from the public despite the taunts of the press?
After the wager had been settled, Millard had sedulously avoided all reference to the crime, and Storm’s efforts to reopen the subject met with no response from him. At length the latter desisted and allowed the conversation to drift to other topics, although he kept his guests’ glasses constantly filled.
George left his almost untouched, and his face grew graver as Millard’s became more flushed. Storm knew that he was brooding in his dull, ruminative fashion over the situation which Millard’s entrance had interrupted, and as the meal drew to a close he decided to make his announcement and have it over with.
“I am especially glad to have you two good friends here with me to-night——” he began.
“Hear! Hear!” Millard interjected.
“No; this is no speech, but it is probably the last occasion on which we three shall meet for some time,” Storm pursued. “I’m leaving town in a few days—making quite an extended trip, in fact,—and I doubt if I shall be back much before it is time for George to hand me your fifty dollars, Millard.”
“Going away!” Millard exclaimed blankly. “Where, old chap? What’s the idea?”
“I’m not very well; nerves gone to pieces. I need a long sea voyage to buck me up, the doctor says, and I’m planning a trip to the East,” Storm explained. “When I come back I am thinking of going into something new. The Mammoth Trust is all very well, but it doesn’t offer a wide enough scope for the future. I am out after something big, but I want a rest first, and change.”
Millard nodded solemnly.
“Best thing for you,” he said. “Change, and all that, and then strike out for yourself. Dry rot in most of those old, conservative institutions. Hope you’ll come back to Greenlea in time for the election of the club officers in the Fall. Here’s luck, but don’t count on that fifty of mine! If you knew what I do, you’d kiss your own good-bye!”