Evening was coming on, and the shadows of the approaching night had evidently gathered in the hall of the house—he could just see the glass globe of the hanging gas jet in the hall, but it was not lighted.
For that matter there was no light about the house at all, though the neighbors were beginning to illuminate their houses.
Passing down the street a little distance, Eric Darrell crossed over, and came up the other side.
He now noticed that there was a light in the second story front room, though almost ready to swear it had not been there previous to the entrance of the proprietor.
The inside blinds were closed in such a way that Darrell could see nothing.
He was deeply interested.
Whatever this strange mystery attached to Joe’s daily visit here might mean, Darrell could not forget that the other was his friend.
He would act as a surgeon might when one whom he regarded highly was brought before him for attention—his fingers would be very tender, but the cruel knife must do its duty.
He was walking slowly along when he almost ran into a female who stood on the edge of the pavement opposite the house.
Her black attire and the veil she wore attracted his attention immediately.