XXXV
Huntington's mind worked hard as he settled back in the motor-car and surveyed the situation. It was impossible for him to have been so intimately associated with Hamlen all these weeks without assimilating his friend's manner of thought and action accurately enough to follow him in this climax of his tragedy. Of his determination he had no doubt; that he had as yet put it into execution was another matter. Huntington believed that Hamlen would wish to see him once more before he visited upon himself the extreme penalty which his hypersensitive nature would decree.
It was shortly after noon when the car drew up in front of Huntington's home. Mrs. Thatcher, in her feverish efforts to assist, had suggested that the fugitive might have gone across to Newport to take the boat from there to New York; but Huntington figured it differently. Hamlen disliked and distrusted New York, while Boston had become a second home to him. His belongings, such as he had brought with him from Bermuda, were still in the Beacon Street house, and Huntington was sure that following the instincts of a homing pigeon he would return there by the straightest path.
Still, the doubt lingered with sufficient persistency to quicken Huntington's movements up the brownstone steps. As he let himself in, Dixon met him in the hallway.
"Mr. Hamlen,—is he here?" Huntington demanded.
"Yes, sir; he's up-stairs and very wild, sir."
"Wild?" Huntington queried. "When did he arrive?"
"Last night, sir, about ten o'clock. When I let him in he rushed past me and went up-stairs, sir. I followed him, thinking he might need something, but he turned on me and cursed me, sir. When I ventured to take him some breakfast he swore at me again, and told me to get out of the way. I'm glad you've come, sir. I was at a loss to know what to do about luncheon."
Huntington waited to hear no more, but mounted quickly to Hamlen's room and knocked gently on the door.