No one had seen him in this condition; it was only when in entire seclusion that he allowed his feelings thus to manifest themselves. But to-day he kept himself in seclusion nearly the whole time, having no thoughts for anything but the thousand and one terrifying apprehensions that flooded his mind. He knew not what to do. A sense of impending disaster—a conviction that justice was about to overtake him—nearly crushed him. He endeavored in vain to contemplate the situation calmly, to deliberately calculate his safest and most available course. As yet, he could only sit in a state of inaction, confusion, and dread.
He took no dinner. The hour of noon passed, and at two o’clock he still remained alone and meditative.
All at once an unusual noise was heard. Heavy footsteps passed through the store below, ascended the stairs, approached the door of his apartment, sounding louder and louder, and finally halted. An imperative rap was given.
The guilty man cowered in terror, and remained for a moment perfectly still.
The rap was repeated.
Drawing a bottle from a cupboard, Haywood took a deep draught, and, by a violent effort composing himself, answered the summons. His black eyes glittered, and his form stiffened in rigid ceremony as he opened the door.
“Geoffrey Haywood, in the name of the Government of the United States I arrest you as a smuggler!”
“Sir!” said Haywood, with a lame assumption of indignation, “I do not understand you.”
“And I,” said Leonard, unable to restrain his excitement, “charge you with willfully conspiring against the life of a fellow-citizen by withholding evidence that would have acquitted him on a wrongfully preferred charge of murder!”
“Leonard Lester!” gasped Haywood.