He felt into the inner recesses of the old-fashioned wallet, and from one pocket extracted a thick sheaf of bank-notes. They were in large denominations—hundreds, fifties, and twenties. Brainard smoothed out the bills on his knee and carefully counted them; in all there was rather more than four thousand dollars.
“The old boy traveled with quite a wad!” he muttered, fingering the crisp bills.
The touch of the money gave a curious electric thrill to his thoughts. Here was an evidence of reality that made the old man’s mumbled words and intense effort assume a reasonable shape. When Krutzmacht let Brainard take possession of this wallet, he knew what it contained. He trusted to a stranger in his desperate need.
Still feeling around in the folds of the wallet, Brainard extracted a railroad-ticket of voluminous length for San Francisco.
“He was on his way to the train!” Brainard exclaimed, and added unconsciously, “when they got him and did him up!”
Already his busy mind had accepted the hypothesis of enemies and foul play rather than that of disease.
With the railroad-ticket and the money in his hand, he stood staring before him, still debating the matter. Something seemed to rise within him, some determination—a spirit of daring which he had not felt for years.
Mechanically he put the papers and bank-notes back into the wallet, and shoved it into his pocket. Then he looked at his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock. If he was to leave to-night, as the old man had ordered, there was no more time to lose.
Without further hesitation, he threw a few articles into an old bag and started for the ferry. On the way he stopped to telephone the hospital. After a delay which made him impatient, he learned that the sick man was resting quietly—“still unconscious,” the nurse said. So he had not spoken again.
When Brainard reached the station in Jersey City, having a few moments to spare, he wrote a brief note to the hospital authorities, saying that he was leaving the city on business, and would call on his return in a week or ten days. He inclosed several bank-notes, requesting that the sick man should have every comfort. Having dropped his letter into the box he stepped into the Chicago sleeper. The exhilarating beat of his heart told him that he had done well.