“Harm? God only knows. Would I had never been born. Leave me, wife; I shall go mad if your innocent eyes look into mine a moment longer. I must do something, and I must be alone.”
CHAPTER XXVII.
INVISIBLE INK.
Nance left the room. The moment she closed the door behind her the master of the Heights went straight to his desk. His brow was like thunder; his face was white with an awful grey shadow over it.
“Long John has gone one step too far,” he muttered. “The robbery was planned and carried out to perfection. It was done as a blind, and as a blind it will succeed admirably; but this—this blow was aimed at me. I have threatened to throw up the sponge. If I do, it will mean so much that all will be up with the Silver School. Now, hear me, Heaven,” continued the man, clenching his hand and looking up as he spoke, “I swear, I swear that, as I live, if that boy is not back at the Heights within twenty-four hours, I carry out my threat.”
Trembling violently, Rowton sat down before his desk and opened it. He took out some paper of a peculiar make and quality, dipped his pen into a small bottle which contained a preparation not in the least like ordinary ink, and wrote a short sentence. At the end of this sentence he appended a hieroglyphic. The paper was then folded up, put into an envelope and directed. Having done so, Rowton put on his hat and went out.
As he was walking up the avenue, Jacob, the footman, who had been unremitting in his active services and presence of mind during the terrible scare of the morning, also put on his hat, and followed his master at a respectful distance.
With quick strides, Rowton approached the little post office of the small adjacent village. The post-mistress, who had evidently not yet heard anything of the burglary, looked at him with some slight surprise when he entered her shop.
“Am I in time to catch the post, Mrs. Higgins?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, just; Polly and me, we are packing the bags now.”
“Then here is a letter; hold out the bag and I’ll drop it in.”