He must go himself; that was plain. He thought of MacWhirter’s manner on the previous day and shivered involuntarily; then the episode of the night recurred to him and he smiled. He had tested himself and in the test had encountered the unforseen, but it had not daunted him. His strength, his nerve, his ingenuity had been equal to the situation, would be equal to any exigency of the future! What was there now in all the world for him to fear?
He would go back to Greenlea, and George should go with him! They would spend the night there, and then whatever ghosts of memory the old house held for him would be laid forever.
His decision made, he stopped at a sporting goods shop, purchased the flies, lines and a new reel, and then returned to his rooms to await the replies to his telegrams of the morning.
Here a new difficulty confronted him. The money! Those packets of greenbacks and tiny roulades of gold which he had taken life itself to gain! He could not go away for a week or more and leave them reposing there in that flimsy safe! There were duplicates of it in every apartment in the house. It was even conceivable that Potter himself might have missed something of value and thinking that he had left it in the safe, return unexpectedly and open it. There might be a fire! Any of a hundred possibilities could happen which would betray his secret to the world.
Yet it was out of the question for him to take it with him. He could not carry it about him, for in the enforced intimacy of camp life he would be unable to conceal it from George; and he well knew that the latter would rummage at will in every article of hand-baggage. Moreover, the packets of bills were too bulky, and the ten thousand dollars in gold alone must weigh approximately forty pounds.
But where could he secrete it during his absence?
Storm sat with his head upon his hands, wrestling with the problem. The fishing trip could not be given up now. He must go with George, must try him out and then if he were likely to prove a menace, must destroy him. But the money! There was no hiding place in the world where it would be safe. . . .
Then the solution burst full grown into being, and he sprang from his chair.
Greenlea! There was a place in the cellar of the house where the concrete floor had been removed to lay some pipes and had never been replaced. Sand and soft loam filled the space, and it would be easy enough to bury a tin despatch box there. Several such boxes were in the attic, he knew, and packed carefully in one of them the bills and gold would be safe from discovery for the brief time he would be away.
But if George accompanied him, how could he——? Bah! He had nothing now to fear from George or anyone! He could pack the money into a bag and carry it down under George’s very nose and he would suspect nothing! It would take nerve, of course, but was he not master of himself, invincible?