The truth flashed upon the Agent's understanding. For his credit let it be declared, Carleton had played his game with a consummate art that would have deceived "the very elect."
No time was lost in obtaining traces of the young man's flight. The Agent judged rightly, from his character, that he would not attempt to leave town. He anticipated a more melancholy fate for the unhappy youth. Some inward prompting seemed to direct him to an apothecary's shop not many doors distant, and on inquiry he learned that Carleton had just been there.
"Which way did he go?"
"In fact, I am not certain he has gone," said the druggist. "He purchased some medicines, remarking that he wished to write out some directions for its use, and stepped into the back room. I have been very busy, and he may have passed out without my seeing him."
The Agent sprang forward. The door was locked upon the inside.
"What medicine did you sell him?" asked the Agent.
"Oh! you needn't be alarmed, he has studied medicine, and knows how to use these things."
"He knows how to use them too well! This door must be forced. His life depends upon it,—if it is not already too late!"
Too late, indeed, it was!