“I want to make my get-away in a hurry,” returned the man. “But first I’d like to say that it’s the ‘Far East’ for a guy like you. Do you get me?”
And with that he turned and made softly away, clinging to the shadows, and at last disappearing around a corner.
“The motions of a panther and the manners of a yeggman,” spoke Kenyon. “A most undesirable person to come upon, unprepared, I should say.”
He turned and made his way westward, deep in thought. He walked with bent head, and did not notice a patrolman well along in the block who looked at him searchingly and suspiciously; but he was allowed to pass without interference.
A bell from a neighboring tower solemnly boomed two as he turned into Fifth Avenue and made his way down town. The night had turned chill and damp; he turned up the collar of his overcoat with a shiver and plunged his hands into the wide pockets. As he strode along he drew deeply at the cigar which he had lighted, until the end glowed redly.
When Kenyon smoked hard it was a positive indication of mental unrest. Against the high-colored background of surprise, suspicion and possible crime with which the night had daubed his thoughts, was thrown a brilliant face and a pair of flashing, scornful eyes.
Who was she? Who were they? And what was the mysterious thing which so held and so moved them all? But more than anything else, how, in the name of all that was bizarre and astonishing, did he come to be mixed up in it? No matter what side of the matter he set himself to consider, he always came back to this particular one. It was a thing absolutely beyond his comprehension.
For a good two hours he tramped the streets smoking and thinking. If the girl had not figured in the affair it would have had but little effect upon him; he was quite well accustomed to startling occurrences, but her participation troubled him. Otherwise he could have gone comfortably to bed and forgotten it all.
“There is something decidedly wrong in Selden’s Square,” muttered he, “something that’s off color and underhand. But what is it? And how does a girl like that—but she can have nothing to do with anything that’s not correct. I am positive of that. There is something fine and high about her.”
Just how he ever came to be walking along the North River front he never knew. He was so deep in conjecture that he had given no heed to where his steps had been leading him, and about four o’clock he found himself in the neighborhood of the Twenty-third Street ferry. Even this he would not have known had he not suddenly collided with a stoutly built young man, with fiery red hair, who was just about entering a railroad cab.