He would keep the bag close beside him throughout the night, and in the morning, at the last moment, he would contrive an excuse to remain behind George. There would be so much to do in town that the latter would be compelled to take an early train back, and after his departure it would not be the work of half an hour to stuff the money into the despatch box and bury it in that open space in the cellar. The thing was as good as done now!
Sending Homachi out to purchase supplies for the dinner, Storm waited only until the door had closed after him, and then, rushing to the storeroom, he dragged out a huge, battered old valise. Into this he transferred the money, packing it carefully between layers of old clothing, lest the cylinders of gold become unrolled and clink together. When it was all safely stowed away he filled the top of the valise with discarded linen and closing it, lifted it experimentally from the floor.
Its weight seemed prodigious, and he was badly out of condition, he knew. Would his flabby muscles stand the strain of carrying it? Storm set his lips resolutely. He must force himself to do it; there was no other way. He had whipped his faltering strength into obeying his will before, and his will was absolutely supreme!
When George arrived promptly at seven he found his host in a more genial mood than he had exhibited for weeks, with a hint of eager anticipation in his manner which recalled the old, high-spirited Norman of days long gone.
“You look better already!” George beamed at him. “Where are we going, anyway? You said over the ’phone that you’d fixed it, but I don’t——”
Storm gathered up a sheaf of telegrams from the desk and seizing his guest by the arm dragged him off to the dining-room.
“Come on and let us have dinner. We can talk while we eat; we haven’t any too much time.”
“Time!” repeated George. “We’re not going anywhere this evening!”
“Aren’t we?” Storm laughed. “Homachi has a chicken casserole for us to-night and some new asparagus with a sauce which he fondly believes to be Hollandaise. I hope you are good and hungry; I know I am.”
“But what’s all this mystery?” George demanded, after Homachi had served them. “Who are all those telegrams from? I hope you haven’t gone and arranged some long trip, Norman, You know we can’t stay away for more than a week, and we’ll get mighty little fishing if we spend most of the time on the cars!”