When he was gone I was conscious of a feeling of intense relief, and also of intense antagonism—a feeling I had never had for but one man before—Peck: a feeling which I never got rid of.
One evening a little later I missed Dix. He usually came home even when he strayed off, which was not often, unless as happened he went with Elsa, for whom he had conceived a great fondness, and who loved and petted him in return. It had come to be a great bond between the girl and me, and I think the whole family liked me the better for the dog's love of the daughter. But this evening he did not appear; I knew he was not with Elsa, for I remembered he had been in my office during the afternoon, and in consequence I spent an unhappy night. All sorts of visions floated before my mind, from the prize-ring to the vivisection table. I rather inclined to the former; for I knew his powerful chest and loins and his scarred shoulders would commend him to the fancy. I thought I remembered that he had gone out of my office just before I left and had gone down the steps which led to the alley I have mentioned. This he sometimes did. I recalled that I was thinking of Miss Eleanor Leigh and had not seen or thought of him between the office and my home.
I was so disturbed about him by bedtime that I went out to hunt for him and returned to my office by the same street I had walked through in the afternoon. When I reached the building in which my office was, I turned into the alley I have mentioned and went up the back stairway. It was now after midnight and it was as black as pitch. When I reached my office, thinking that I might by a bare possibility have locked him in, I opened the door and walked in, closing it softly behind me. The window looked out on the well left for light and air, and was open, and as I opened the door a light was reflected through the window on my wall. I stepped up to close the window and, accidentally looking across the narrow well to see where the light came from, discovered that it was in the back office of Coll McSheen, in which were seated Mr. McSheen and the sour-looking man I had seen on the train with the silk hat and the paste diamond studs, and of all persons in the world, Peck! The name Leigh caught my ear and I involuntarily stopped without being aware that I was listening. As I looked the door opened and a man I recognized as the janitor of the building entered and with him a negro waiter, bearing two bottles of champagne and three glasses. For a moment I felt as though I had been dreaming. For the negro was Jeams. I saw the recognition between him and Peck, and Jeams's white teeth shone as Peck talked about him. I heard him say:
"No, suh, I don' know nuthin' 't all about him. Ise got to look out for myself. Yes, suh, got a good place an' I'm gwine to keep it!"
He had opened the bottles and poured out the wine, and McSheen gave him a note big enough to make him bow very low and thank him volubly. When he had withdrawn Peck said:
"You've got to look out for that rascal. He's an awfully smart scoundrel."
"Oh! I'll own him, body and soul," said McSheen.
"I wouldn't have him around me."
"Don't worry—he won't fool me. If he does—" He opened and closed his fist with the gesture I had seen him use the first day he paid me a visit.
"Well, let's to business," he said when they had drained their glasses. He looked at the other men. "What do you say, Wringman?"