“Is there a subway station near you?”
“Yes, of course, only a block or two away. But what in the——”
“Never mind now. Let’s go up that way,” his friend proposed. “I’m not stuck on these taxis under the present circumstances. A lot of the fellows that drive them are crooks, and you never can tell——. Me for the subway, and don’t talk too much on the way up, Norman. This is serious business.”
“All right,” Storm acquiesced shortly. “But let me carry that bag, won’t you? You’ve got enough with that umbrella and brief case.”
“Not on your life!” responded Horton with emphasis. “I’ll carry it myself. You lead the way, Norman.”
Storm obeyed. He had known little of Horton in the past and nothing of how or where the years since their college days had been passed. Without having much in common, they had traveled in the same crowd during the first term at the university, and many had been the scrapes, engendered by Horton’s reckless love of fun and Storm’s rebellion against discipline, which they had shared.
Horton had been compelled to leave college at the end of the freshman year by his father’s failure and gradually had dropped from sight of his old classmates. In the first few years he had been heard of now and then in widely different parts of the country, employed in positions of minor responsibility, but of late no news had come and Storm had forgotten him completely until this passing glimpse of his face recalled old associations.
In the subway he studied his companion furtively. Horton’s figure had grown heavier with the years, his face more full but healthily tanned, while the prominent jaw and clear, steady eyes betokened added strength of character. Storm speculated on his possible circumstances; his clothes were of good quality but obviously ready-made, and the bluff heartiness of his manner suggested an association with men of a rougher caliber than Storm himself counted among his friends. Here was a man who had mastered circumstances, not permitted himself to be enslaved by them! Storm wondered what the other would do in his place. At least he would not allow penury to hold him chained to an existence which had become unendurable! Then he dismissed the idea with a shrug. Horton could never stand in his place; he would not have the cleverness to cloak murder in the guise of accident, or the quick wit and self-control to see it through. No one could have done it save Storm himself!
When they reached his station he touched Horton lightly on the arm to appraise him of the fact and was amazed at the latter’s quick, defensive start. What did the man fear? His secretiveness, his evident intention at first to deny his identity: what could they portend? Could it be that Horton was a fugitive from justice? Storm smiled at the thought. Why, he himself, if the world only knew——!
But Horton’s ebullient spirits bubbled over when they emerged on the street level, and a hasty glance about assured him that no other pedestrians were near.