The first real heat of the summer had come in a blaze of tropic intensity which seemed to rise in blasting waves from the baking streets, and as Storm worked he felt a strange lassitude creeping over him. What if he were to be ill? That was one consideration which had not occurred to him, and, stifling as he was, a chill seemed to strike at the core of his being. Illness might mean delirium, and in delirium men babbled of the most secret, hidden things! He imagined himself lying inert and helpless, the guard of consciousness loosed from his tongue, his disordered brain stealing back over the forbidden hours of the past; and in fancy he could hear the words which should spell his doom issuing from his fevered lips.
It must not come to pass! By sheer force of will alone he must not permit himself to fall ill, at least until he had left the city and all who knew him forever behind; until he was in a strange land, where his very language would not be understood!
Bright spots were dancing before his eyes, and the pain in his head had increased; but by a supreme effort he flung off the lethargy which had settled upon him and completed his task. The building was almost deserted when he made his way out at last; the rush hour had started, and he turned disgustedly from the swarms of wilted, wearied toilers who blocked the entrance to elevated staircases and subways. Thank God that to-morrow would be his last day of all this!
Sunset had brought no relief, and the reeking asphalt seemed to melt and sink beneath his feet as he dragged himself over to the Square for a taxi. Was it only the heat that was affecting him so strangely or could it be really illness after all? Would Homachi find him in the morning muttering and raving at the two shadowy figures which delirium would bring to stand at his bedside? Would strange doctors come to listen and wonder and finally summon the police?
Shuddering with horror at the vision, Storm climbed into the first open taxi that he saw and giving his Riverside Drive address, sank back against the cushions with closed eyes. He felt that never in his life had he so wanted human companionship, not even on that night when he had encountered Jack Horton in the rain; yet he dared not summon anyone. George would drop his affairs with Abbott and come, of course, but George was the last person in the world whom he would want near if he were not to be in full possession of his faculties. There was no one he could trust; he stood alone! In health and strength, with the guard of reticence about him, he could walk among men, but at the first weakening, the first inkling of the truth all mankind would be upon him like a pack of wolves, tearing him down!
As the taxi turned into the Drive at length a breath of cooler air blew up from the river, and when they reached the door of his apartment house Storm felt more at ease, although his head still throbbed and a weight seemed dragging at his limbs.
His rooms, as he let himself in with his latchkey, were dim and cool and inviting, and with a shiver of distaste at the thought of food he threw himself across the bed and almost at once fell into a heavy, troubled sleep.
When he awoke the moonlight was flooding the room, casting vague, fantastic shadows in the corners and grouping them about the head of his bed. Storm sat up, bewildered. His throat felt drawn and parched, his head ached splittingly and a vague but insistent craving assailed him.
Then he remembered and got weakly to his feet. He had had no dinner, nothing since that hasty, unappetizing noonday meal. He groped his way to the light switch in the living-room and turning it on, blinked dazedly at the clock. It was after midnight! He must have lain for many hours in that exhausted sleep as if drugged.
But he felt better, at any rate; the lassitude was gone and his head was clearer, even though it ached. He would be all right in the morning. . . .