But the arrival of Justin Wood complicated matters. He must keep out of the way of the man he had robbed, and this would not be easy while both were in the same city.
"Suppose he had been at the theater this evening!" he said to himself, nervously.
As Justin Wood was an athlete, an encounter would probably have been far from pleasant for his faithless friend.
Crawford Lane pursued his way homeward in a very serious frame of mind.
"It is lucky," he thought, "that fate has thrown in my way this green boy. With his hundred dollars I will start to-morrow for Chicago, and stay there for the present. That will keep me out of the way of Justin Wood."
It was about midnight when Lane reached the hotel on the Bowery. He went upstairs at once.
As he lit the gas he turned his gaze on the bed near the window. Scott was fast asleep, with one arm thrown carelessly over the quilt.
"Sleeping like a top!" murmured Lane. "These young boys always sleep sound. I used to when I was a boy. I had an easy conscience then," he continued, with a half laugh. "I'm not quite so innocent as I was, but I know a lot more. Well, I must get to bed, for I must be up bright and early to-morrow morning."
He carefully locked the door, for he did not want anyone else to anticipate him in his dishonest plans.
Crawford Lane slept rather later than he intended. When, upon opening his eyes, he consulted his watch he found that it was half-past seven o'clock.