“Come and have a cup of tea.” Peggy held the tongs poised over the sugar bowl. “One lump, or two, Count? Oh, Granny,” as Mrs. Macallister walked in, “you are just in time to have some hot toast and tea.”
CHAPTER XVII
ACROSS THE POTOMAC
After getting his special story on the wires, Dick had only time for a hasty meal at a down-town restaurant. Then he hurried over to the Star office, and was soon at work in the city room. About half past nine his chief sent for him.
“This is the busiest Saturday night we’ve had in years,” grumbled Colonel Byrd. “You know Dr. Gibson, superintendent of St. Elizabeth’s, don’t you?” Dick nodded assent. “Well, go over there as quick as you can and see if you can get him to talk. Word has just come in that two of the criminally insane have escaped and are still at large terrorizing the neighborhood. Get all the details, for it is local news and we will feature it.”
St. Elizabeth’s, The U. S. Government Hospital for the Insane, is on Nichols Avenue beyond Anacostia. Anacostia, one of the most beautifully situated suburbs of Washington, is on the Eastern Branch of the Potomac, and directly across from the Navy Yard. The scenery in that vicinity is very fine, and from the extensive grounds about the Insane Asylum there is a wonderful view of the winding Potomac, with Washington and its environs in the distance.
At no time an accessible place even in summer, on that stormy night it was a fearful journey to the Government Reservation; and Dick prepared for his trip with no great alacrity.
Some hours later he stopped, footsore and weary, at the intersection of Sheridan Road and Nichols Avenue and sought shelter from the storm on a porch of a vacant house. He had not only interviewed Dr. Gibson, but, joining one of the searching parties, had been present at the capture of the two escaped lunatics. The pursuit and capture would make a readable story, so, well satisfied with his night’s work, he waited patiently to catch the last car to Washington, which left at eight minutes past one o’clock. It lacked fifteen minutes of that time, so, pulling his coat collar up about his ears, he made himself as comfortable as circumstances permitted.
While waiting, his eyes, grown accustomed to the darkness, discerned a solitary figure coming toward him from Anacostia. When opposite Dick the newcomer paused and, screening himself from the storm behind one of the porch pillars, struck a match. Holding it in the hollow of his two hands, he lighted his pipe. As the tiny flame flared up his face was visible. Dick, too amazed to speak, drew back deeper in the shadow of the friendly porch. With growing curiosity, he watched the slender figure glide rapidly up Nichols Avenue. What was Alfred Clark doing in that neighborhood after midnight?
Dick hesitated. It was obviously his duty to return to the Star with his story, but a certain furtiveness in Clark’s movements caused all doubt to vanish. Throwing his duty to the winds, he pulled his soft hat low on his head, scrambled down the steps, and turned up Nichols Avenue.
Dick picked his way carefully along the frozen and slippery sidewalk, keeping Clark in view, but not getting close enough to let him suspect that he was being shadowed. On and on they went, past the entrance and the extensive grounds of St. Elizabeth’s, past the few straggling houses marking the outskirts of the little village, and into the more desolate country beyond.