“Captin Jimmy Hoag, Kimball House, City of Atlanta,” was on the outside. He sank down into his chair and fumbled the sealed envelope in his numb fingers. His brain was clear now. It had never been clearer. Presently he opened the envelope and unfolded the sheet.
It ran as follows:
One place is as good as another. You cannot git away. We got you, and your time is short. Go to the end of the earth and we will be there to meet you. By order of his (Blak X Buck) mark.
With the sheet crumpled in his clammy hand, Hoag sat still for more than an hour. Then he rose, shook himself, and took a big drink of whisky, He resolved that he would throw off the cowardly paralysis that was on him and be done with it. He would go out and spend the evening somewhere. Anything was better than this self-imprisonment in solitude that was maddening.
Going down to the office, he suddenly met Edward Peterson as he was turning from the counter. The young man smiled a welcome as he extended his hand.
“I was just going up to your room,” he said. “I happened to see your name on the register while I was looking for an out-of-town customer of ours who was due here to-day. Down for long?”
“I can't say—I railly can't say,” Hoag floundered. “It all depends—some few matters to—to see to.”
“I was going to write you,” the banker continued, his face elongated and quite grave. “I regard you as a friend, Mr. Hoag—I may say, as one of the best I have. I'm sure I've always looked after your interests at this end of the line as carefully as if they had been my own.”
“Yes, yes, I know that, of course.” Hoag's response was a hurried compound of impatience, indifference, and despair.
Peterson threw an eager glance at some vacant chairs near by and touched Hoag's arm. “Let's sit down,” he entreated. “I want to talk to you. I just can't put it off. I'm awfully bothered, Mr. Hoag, and if anybody can help me you can.” Hoag allowed himself to be half led, half dragged to the chair, and he and his companion sat down together.