Half-past three came, and, prompt to the minute, Hank Low drove to the hotel entrance and went in.
Mr. Judson’s room was on the fourth floor, the clerk told him, and called a boy to show the visitor up.
“Never mind,” said Low, “I’ve been here before, and I know the way.”
He therefore went up alone.
Within five minutes he came down the stairs again, an angry look upon his face.
He said nothing to anybody, but hastened to his wagon, got in, said, “Geddap, Jenny,” and drove away as rapidly as the old nag could take him.
As nearly as anybody could make out, it was just previous to Low’s departure that two or three persons on a street that ran along one side of the hotel were fearfully startled by the sight of a man falling from an upper story window.
He struck head first on the sidewalk, and was instantly killed.
Men were at his side before his heart stopped beating, but no word came from the unfortunate man’s lips.
He was unknown to those who saw his end, but they knew from the cut of his clothes that he was a clergyman.