Back I goes and lays around the lots a-watching.
Part of the time I was up at the end of the row, hiding in one of the unoccupied houses. Part of the time I kept between them and the Howard House, for I felt dead sure my man would come out sooner or later.
At quarter to eight I was round in front, hiding behind a tree and watching the front door, when all at once it came flashing over me, “What’s to hinder him from going out the back way and cutting across lots?”
I run up the street to the end of the row, where I could get a view of the lots in the rear.
Sure enough!
There was a man all muffled up to the eyes in a big ulster coat, traveling across lots toward the Howard House, carrying a black leather grip sack in his hand.
Was it Mr. Camm?
It might have been him, or, for that matter, anybody else. How did I even know he came out of that house at all?
I cut after him, not running, of course, but walking fast enough to gain on him some.
This I could see was making him nervous, and he began to walk all the faster. I took it for a good sign that it was really Camm.