There she broke a window and opened the catch, to indicate that Nick Carter, when his lifeless remains should be discovered, had entered the house, presumably in search of Moses Flood. That he had accidentally been caught in the walled passage she also felt sure would be assumed. That the crime should never be brought home to her, she was taking every precaution.
In the semidarkness of the basement, she next tied a thick veil over her hat, and drew it carefully about her face.
Then she let herself out the back door, locking it after her, and stole quickly through a narrow alley, and thus gained the nearest side street.
Now she breathed freely again, and triumphantly hastened away.
“Five thousand easily earned—easily earned!” she said to herself, weighing in mind the price Nathan Godard had agreed to pay for Nick Carter’s life.
Belle Braddon dined that evening with her yellow-haired chance acquaintance from Dakota, so alleged.
Had she dreamed for an instant that she was dining with Chick Carter, she would have fallen out of her chair in a fit.
It was midnight when she reached home at the shore house of Nathan Godard, and she found the large wooden dwelling enveloped in darkness.
There was no game in progress that night.
Belle went straight to bed—as straight as her unsteady steps would take her, and slept soundly until morning, the heavy sleep of semi-intoxication.