George had heard, after all, but the incident of the previous Saturday night had utterly escaped him! In the wave of relief which swept over him Storm felt ironically that he had never before appreciated the virtue of his old friend’s density. But for his slow wit and lack of imagination the man sitting there smoking so placidly before him might have been his accuser!
“Mere details left unguarded are what show up many a criminal,” George remarked sententiously. “The unconsidered trifles are what turn the scale of evidence against an intelligent man more often than a big error in judgment.”
Storm writhed inwardly, but the mask of half-contemptuous amusement still veiled his face.
“It doesn’t take much intelligence to hit a man over the head!” he observed. “You’re talking through your hat, George. If they succeed in landing the murderers, which I very much doubt, you’ll find your theory knocked to smithereens. Horton may have left the train in company with a crowd he trusted, all right, but remember he has led a rough sort of life for years in mining camps and collieries, and his associates are bound to have been men of a coarse, elemental stamp. They have probably laid for him for weeks, planned this ahead and made their get-away before the body was even discovered.”
“Well,”—George rose with a touch of weariness in his manner—“I must get home. Time will tell, but I’ve a feeling that poor old Jack’s murder will be avenged. I was sorry to hear that you have planned an immediate departure. You won’t reconsider and try a fishing trip with me first? It might buck you up and give you a fresh outlook on things.”
Storm shook his head.
“Thanks, old man, but I’ve got to get away from everything and everyone, even myself. I can’t bring her back, and I can’t forget while there is anything about to remind me of the old life.”
“I suppose you are right,” George admitted slowly. “I am afraid you will regret it, though, from a monetary standpoint. Look in on me to-morrow at the office if you get time, Norman. Good night.”
After he had gone Storm shot the bolt in the door and dashing into his bedroom pushed aside the panel which concealed the safe. He must see for himself if it were true that all but a mere fraction of his money would be forever useless to him.
Homachi had departed hours before, the shades were drawn and in his solitude Storm spread the packets of bills out upon the bed and counted them feverishly. It was true! A hundred thousand dollars which would have meant years of ease and luxurious travel had been transformed by the magic of a few words into mere worthless scraps of green paper!