Chapter XV.Ashes to AshesThe night elevator man was almost slumbering peacefully before the telephone switchboard as they traversed the hall to the vestibule, and the street itself seemed deserted, but from afar echoed the measured tread of the watchman approaching upon his rounds.“Let’s cut across to the path,” suggested Storm with a hint of nervousness in his lowered tones. “It is better walking, and you can get a really magnificent view of the river lights from a few blocks further up.”He led his companion across the driveway and bridle road to the path deeply enshrouded by trees and bordered by the low stone wall which ran along the edge of the embankment. The night was moonless, but overhead the stars shone brightly and the broad sweep of the river below them at their left was dotted with the lights of ships and barges riding at anchor or moving slowly out with the tide.“By jingo, it’s some night!” Horton thrust back his shoulders and drew in a deep breath as he strode along at the rapid, vigorous gait of one habituated to covering long distances afoot. “Glad you thought of getting a bit of air, Norman; this is great! Look at the old river down there, and the Palisades beyond! I tell you there isn’t a spot on the face of the earth that can touch little old New York!”“I like it out here myself. Sometimes when I can’t sleep I walk along this path for hours, watching the lights and the river; there is a bigness and impersonality about it that is restful.” Storm spoke truly, but back of his mind was the shuddering consciousness that never again would he find peace and tranquility in this nocturnal haunt. After tonight the shadows would be peopled with ghosts, the dark river would run red and the frowning cliffs on the farther bank would echo with the doings of this hour.——What matter? He would be far away with the means to live his own life and not a trace left behind him! Unconsciously his grip tightened on the cane, and he glanced speculatively at his companion. How easy it was going to be! Just a moment of steady courage, of carefully calculated effort; one smash—and the task would be accomplished! A few more blocks, a quarter mile at most——!“You ought to see the harbor at Yokohama,” Horton remarked. “Prettiest sight in the world when a ship comes in, if you didn’t have to use your nose at the same time! All the sampans come out with their strings of colored lights and I can tell you they beat our barges any day in the week for picturesqueness! You hear the coolies chanting and the samyens and samisens tinkling, and the very taste of the East is in your mouth. Oh, I’m not getting poetic from the effects of your Scotch, old scout! It’s all ugly enough and dirty and mean and distorted in the daylight, but there is a witchery over it at night. Here you don’t get that; there’s a hard-and-fast realism about it that dispels any illusion. It is a sort of bigness, as you say, but it doesn’t hit me with anydolce-far-nientestuff; it means bustle to me, and commerce and adventure and wealth. Gee, when I’ve made my pile I’d like to sit in at the window of one of those white stone fronts over there and watch my coal barges slouching along on the end of a tow line and my cranes and winches and flat-cars getting busy along the docks! Fine pipe dream for a guy whose only contact with big money is in handling other people’s, eh?”He laughed boyishly, without cynicism, and Storm clapped him on the shoulder with assumed heartiness.“You’ll get there yet, Jack! Perhaps you’re on the way to it now, who knows?” Only six blocks more and then they would reach that turn in the path! The unintended double significance in his words swept over him, and he felt an insane desire to laugh aloud. “You say you are in right with this Mid-Eastern Consolidated Corporation, and your wife will have money——”“I’m not marrying her for what her old man has got!” Horton interrupted hastily. “It may be convenient some time for her to be able to help me swing something big, but you understand I like that little girl for herself. She’s a thoroughbred, if her mother did run a miner’s boarding house in the old days, and she’s got the pep to keep a fellow right up on his toes and make him make good on his own account. I kind of wish I had telephoned to her to-night; it’ll be a couple of weeks at least before I can hit this burg again, and I’d like to have heard her voice——”“You can ’phone in the morning,” Storm suggested, his eyes intent upon the path ahead. A figure was advancing toward them out of the darkness, and midway between them a street lamp shed broad rays. They would meet the stranger directly beneath it if they kept up their present gait. Storm halted deliberately and drew out his cigarette case. “Wait half a second till I get a light. Tell you what you can do, Jack. Stop over a train in Philadelphia with me to-morrow and call the lady up from there.”Horton shook his head decisively.“Not me! Once I get on my way in the morning I’m going to keep right on going,” he declared. “I don’t feel right in my mind yet about this little stop-over, but it sure has been worth it! The next time I come to town——”The advancing figure passed under the rays of the lamp and was revealed as a blue-coated policeman swinging along idly but with a certain brisk watchfulness. Storm blew out his match and fell in step once more beside his companion.“The next time you come, drop me a line ahead and we’ll fix up a little dinner with Holworthy and any of the rest I can find lying around the club,” he said suavely. “It is a good thing to get in touch with the old crowd now and then; livens a chap up and keeps him in the running.”The policeman passed with only a casual glance at the two obviously respectable citizens, and his footsteps died away behind them. Only four blocks more!“You bet it does!” Horton assented heartily. “Why, just running into you to-night like this and having a chat over old times has given me a new lease of life! I’ll like first rate to see old Holworthy and the rest again, but most of all I want you to meet my girl. She’s aces high, Norman, and you’ll agree with me when you know her. We’ll get her to shake the old lady for an evening and come to dinner—” he paused suddenly and added: “Say, we’ve come further than I thought. Hadn’t we better be getting back? I don’t want to cut short your stroll, but that bag back there is on my mind.”“All right. Just let us go to the top of the hill here around the turn.” Storm threw his cigarette away and strove to speak casually, but his throat had become all at once parched and strained, and a tremor of excitement threatened his tones. “There’s a down-stream boat almost due, and I want you to see it come round the bend. I watch for it here nearly every night, and it’s a sight worth seeing. I suppose you’ll be taking a trip somewhere on your honeymoon?”“Haven’t got as far as that yet!” Horton protested laughingly. “Oh, the little girl knows what is in the wind, all right—trust a woman for that!—but I haven’t put it up to her in so many words. I want to lay my pipes with the Mid-Eastern first and see where I’m likely to stand before I tackle her old man. He likes me fast enough, but when it comes to me horning in on the family he’ll expect me to spread my cards on the table, and I have not got much to show for the last twenty years except the trust of the people I’ve worked for.”“That is a pretty big asset,” muttered Storm, his eyes on the brow of the hill just ahead. If he could keep Horton going, keep him talking until they reached that dark stretch and then, unsuspected, fall a step or two behind——! “It is a long step of the way toward success to gain the trust of your associates.”“Sure!” the other responded with pardonable pride. “But it is not so much of an asset as an income producer to an old guy who has struggled all his life and then struck it rich all of a sudden; so rich and so easy that he figures any fellow who hasn’t done the same is a dub. But I’m not worrying; I’ve got it pretty good out there, and two or three more trips with the payroll will about be my finish. There’s going to be a big reorganization soon, and I mean to edge in then on the inside.”Storm glanced hurriedly, keenly behind him. Not a figure was in sight, no sound broke the stillness save his companion’s voice and the whispering of the wind in the rows of trees along the deserted drive. On the other side of the low wall the ground dropped away into seemingly limitless space, while outward and far below the broad river waited. A few yards more, a few steps——A sudden raucous honk blared upon the air, and over the top of the hill appeared a wildly careening motor car which bore down upon them and passed in a bedlam of screeching brakes and maudlin song.An oath borne of his keyed-up nerves burst unbidden from Storm’s lips, and Horton turned.“Gave you a start, eh?” he remarked. “This is a nice stretch of road on which to be flirting with death like that, isn’t it? Thirty miles an hour and a chance to see the scenery, that’s my motto; but then as I told you I’ve learned to play safe.”“My nerves aren’t what thy used to be,” Storm admitted, listening intently. The roar of the car had diminished in the distance to a low humming whirr which seemed only to accentuate the silence. “Just at the turn of the path there ahead—I think the boat is coming. Do you see any lights on the river?”Horton quickened his pace, peering expectantly out over the wall. He was sensible that Storm had fallen back and heard the click of his cigarette case and the rasp of a match.“Just those bobbing down there on some tugs,” he announced. “A river steamer is a pretty sight at night, isn’t she? I remember——”The words ended in a gasp as something crashed down hideously upon him from behind, and the world was blotted out. His body lurched, sagged, and slumped down in a crumpled heap against the wall.Storm’s arm sank nervelessly to his side and a sickening wave of horror swept over him. Had Horton cried out, or had he himself? It seemed to him for an instant that tumultuous shouting rang in his ears, that footsteps were beating upon the pavement behind him, a myriad of lights flashing in his eyes. Then silence and darkness descended again, and a shuddering sigh escaped him. The blow had been struck, but had it been sufficiently heavy? Suppose Horton still lived! What if he survived to be found in the morning by some damnable chance and to name his assailant?Storm bent swiftly over the body, and his groping fingers came in contact with the back of the head, only to be shrinkingly withdrawn. God, but that sturdy stick had done its work well! He had only to possess himself of the key to the closet and heave the body over the wall——Then a swift thought brought beads of sweat out upon his brow. The cap! The maker’s name and his own initials were inside; suppose he had forgotten it! With fumbling, sticky fingers he felt about on the wet pavement. Thank heaven the puddles left by the rain had not dried!The sinister stains would be obliterated, washed away——But where was the cap? Horton had been leaning toward the wall when the blow reached him; could the cap have fallen over and down, to be found on the morrow and traced?With wild fear clutching at his heart, Storm straightened and groped feverishly along the wall. Was this to be the end, after his scheme had worked so smoothly; was he to be betrayed by the merest detail, one of the details which he had himself worked out to insure success? He felt along to the very edge of the wall, and then a sob of relief welled up in his throat; for his fingers had closed at last upon the cap, caught by a clutching tendril of vine as it must have fallen from the head of his victim.He stuffed it into his coat pocket and stooping once more thrust his hand beneath that crumpled body and after a moment produced the key to the closet which contained the treasure. His! One hundred and twelve thousand——But what was that light, quick tapping like hastily running feet? Storm recoiled and turned instinctively to flee, then by a supreme effort of will stayed the wild impulse. The tapping sounded there upon the wall close at hand; it was just a dead branch of the vine whipping in the wind. What a fool he was! Where had his nerve gone?He must finish his job and quickly. That policeman would pass shortly again upon his rounds, or if not he, some strolling night prowler might appear at any moment to stumble over the body and raise an alarm. Every minute that he lingered there increased his danger, and yet he felt a loathsome repugnance at the thought of touching Horton again.Nerving himself desperately he slipped his arms beneath the body and gave a convulsive heave. It jerked, swayed suddenly but slumped back again, and Storm’s breath came in a sobbing gasp. God, how heavy it was! Could he ever get it up to the top of the wall? The sweat poured like rain down his face, and with a mighty effort of strained and snapping muscles he lifted it from the pavement, poised it for a moment on the edge of the abyss and sent it crashing over and down.Weak and trembling in the nausea of sickening reaction, he cowered back and listened. Would the thing ever stop rolling? The first thud and crash of underbrush was followed by a sound as of mighty beasts trampling through a forest, then a pattering hail of pebbles and then, at last, silence.Swaying drunkenly, Storm groped for the cane, found it and turned. Every instinct impelled him to frenzied flight, to run while wind and limb retained strength to obey his will; yet beneath the shuddering terror which obsessed him he realized that he must walk slowly, casually, that no chance passer-by might connect this strolling pedestrian with the horror which lay behind.Quivering with the effort to stay the mad impulse, he moved stiffly off down the path nor dared glance once behind him, although he could feel the gooseflesh rising upon his neck with the sensation of being watched by something supernatural, unclean! He must pass beneath the first street lamp, but in the shadows midway the block he could cross the bridle road and driveway and continue south on the sidewalk. It would not do to remain on the path; if he should encounter the policeman again, and the latter recognizing him, should question him, should question why only one returned where two had gone——Each dragging step sent a spasm of nervous torture through his frame, but he gritted his teeth and held himself erect as he passed beneath the light, even giving a jaunty swing to the cane which seemed to gain weight with every moment that went. Twenty yards further he turned to cut across the driveway to the sidewalk, and as he did so a sound came from behind him that stilled the blood in his veins. It was merely the hoot of the fog horn on the river, but it came to him like the long-drawn wail of a soul in pain.A sense of utter desolation swept over him with its echo, but he rallied it with a savage defiance. In spite of everything, in spite of fate itself, had he not won? The money was his, money for a life-time of travel and ease and forgetfulness! No one could trace him, not a clue had been overlooked. What if commonplace Jack Horton with his petty affairs and affections and ambitions had been snuffed out? He had taken one chance too many, that was all, and the Mid-Eastern could well afford their loss, while to Storm the contents of that bag meant reason, life itself!Still that odd sense of loneliness oppressed him, and in spite of his eagerness to examine and gloat over his treasure, as he neared the apartment house his steps lagged. He realized all at once that he missed Horton’s presence, his easy, self-centered chatter. How confidently the fellow had boasted of his ‘girl’ and his prospects, talked of the future as a condition already brought to pass; and then at one blow, one single muscular effort of another, he had been sent into eternity!What an easy thing it was to take a life and to evade the consequences, if only one used a modicum of courage and caution! Murder was nothing more, after all, than the twang of a pea shooter at a bird, the tap of a butcher’s hammer! A stealthy glow of elation stole over Storm’s spirit, stilling the qualms which had beset him, and a heady exhilaration coursed through his veins like wine. The future was his; he was invincible!The elevator man still slumbered in the same position as when Storm had left the house, and he let himself into his own apartment with infinite caution, closing the door noiselessly behind him. He longed to drag the bag from its hiding place and thrust his hands into its contents in a very orgy of triumphant possession, but he reminded himself sternly that an imperative task still lay before him. Homachi must find no traces of a visitor when he came in the morning. Then, too, there were other possible evidences to consider . . .Storm switched on the lights and examined his hands and clothing with minute care. The latter bore no stains which he could discover, but upon his fingers were brownish smears which made his gorge rise, and about the thumb-nail of his left hand—the hand which had come in contact with Horton’s fallen head—a thread of dull crimson had settled.He turned to the bathroom in revolted haste when a fresh thought made him pause and grope for the pocket of his overcoat. The cap! Had the glancing but deadly blow which knocked it off to catch it by a miracle upon the vine spattered it with Horton’s blood? He drew it forth and smoothed it into a semblance of shape with shaking hands. It was damp and crumpled, but no spot marred its surface or lining; the blow had been too swift and sure!Tossing it upon the rack, Storm made for the bathroom, where he scrubbed his hands until the flesh smarted before turning his attention to the cane itself. When he had dropped it upon the path in order to raise the body it must have fallen into a puddle left by the storm, for it bore no marks save the discoloration of dampness; yet to make sure he carried it into the kitchen and held its heavy head beneath the strong bow of water from the faucet in the sink, then polished it with a rough towel until it shone. How it reminded him of that other rounded knob of wood with the sinister smudge of blood upon it and the single golden hair . . .What a timorous, morbid weakling he had been that night! Afraid of his own shadow, of every move and breath! Nothing could touch him now, nothing could harm him; no one could ever know!He replaced the cane in the umbrella-stand and was turning again toward the kitchen when his eyes fell upon the center table in the living-room. There beneath the lamp lay the bronze ash tray ringed with cigar butts and filled with ashes. Again the thought came to him of that other tray with similar contents which he had scattered to the winds. Why not these also?Ashes to ashes.Those other ashes had been symbolic of his deed and vanished at a mere gesture; these were the concrete evidences of Horton’s presence beneath his roof and yet might be as easily dispelled.With a quick movement he pressed the button of the living-room switch, plunging the room in semi-gloom. Then, by the faint light which came in from the hallway, he made his way to the window and opened it. Not a soul in sight, not a sound save the rustle of the wind in the trees across the drive!Storm caught up the tray from the table and gripping it firmly flung its contents far outward with all his strength lest any of the cigar stumps fall upon the sidewalk or in the gutter directly before him. On the instant the wind rose in a sweeping gust, and it seemed to him that he could see the gray handful spread out in a haze and swirl away into the void of night.There stole over him once more that glow of achievement, as of some strange and pagan ritual performed, and he was closing the window when again there came the lingering, challenging, deep-throated note of a ship’s fog horn upon the river. He shivered, in spite of himself, for to his distorted imagination it held no longer a wail as of a passing soul; rather, it sounded a menace and a warning, an awesome portent of doom.
The night elevator man was almost slumbering peacefully before the telephone switchboard as they traversed the hall to the vestibule, and the street itself seemed deserted, but from afar echoed the measured tread of the watchman approaching upon his rounds.
“Let’s cut across to the path,” suggested Storm with a hint of nervousness in his lowered tones. “It is better walking, and you can get a really magnificent view of the river lights from a few blocks further up.”
He led his companion across the driveway and bridle road to the path deeply enshrouded by trees and bordered by the low stone wall which ran along the edge of the embankment. The night was moonless, but overhead the stars shone brightly and the broad sweep of the river below them at their left was dotted with the lights of ships and barges riding at anchor or moving slowly out with the tide.
“By jingo, it’s some night!” Horton thrust back his shoulders and drew in a deep breath as he strode along at the rapid, vigorous gait of one habituated to covering long distances afoot. “Glad you thought of getting a bit of air, Norman; this is great! Look at the old river down there, and the Palisades beyond! I tell you there isn’t a spot on the face of the earth that can touch little old New York!”
“I like it out here myself. Sometimes when I can’t sleep I walk along this path for hours, watching the lights and the river; there is a bigness and impersonality about it that is restful.” Storm spoke truly, but back of his mind was the shuddering consciousness that never again would he find peace and tranquility in this nocturnal haunt. After tonight the shadows would be peopled with ghosts, the dark river would run red and the frowning cliffs on the farther bank would echo with the doings of this hour.——What matter? He would be far away with the means to live his own life and not a trace left behind him! Unconsciously his grip tightened on the cane, and he glanced speculatively at his companion. How easy it was going to be! Just a moment of steady courage, of carefully calculated effort; one smash—and the task would be accomplished! A few more blocks, a quarter mile at most——!
“You ought to see the harbor at Yokohama,” Horton remarked. “Prettiest sight in the world when a ship comes in, if you didn’t have to use your nose at the same time! All the sampans come out with their strings of colored lights and I can tell you they beat our barges any day in the week for picturesqueness! You hear the coolies chanting and the samyens and samisens tinkling, and the very taste of the East is in your mouth. Oh, I’m not getting poetic from the effects of your Scotch, old scout! It’s all ugly enough and dirty and mean and distorted in the daylight, but there is a witchery over it at night. Here you don’t get that; there’s a hard-and-fast realism about it that dispels any illusion. It is a sort of bigness, as you say, but it doesn’t hit me with anydolce-far-nientestuff; it means bustle to me, and commerce and adventure and wealth. Gee, when I’ve made my pile I’d like to sit in at the window of one of those white stone fronts over there and watch my coal barges slouching along on the end of a tow line and my cranes and winches and flat-cars getting busy along the docks! Fine pipe dream for a guy whose only contact with big money is in handling other people’s, eh?”
He laughed boyishly, without cynicism, and Storm clapped him on the shoulder with assumed heartiness.
“You’ll get there yet, Jack! Perhaps you’re on the way to it now, who knows?” Only six blocks more and then they would reach that turn in the path! The unintended double significance in his words swept over him, and he felt an insane desire to laugh aloud. “You say you are in right with this Mid-Eastern Consolidated Corporation, and your wife will have money——”
“I’m not marrying her for what her old man has got!” Horton interrupted hastily. “It may be convenient some time for her to be able to help me swing something big, but you understand I like that little girl for herself. She’s a thoroughbred, if her mother did run a miner’s boarding house in the old days, and she’s got the pep to keep a fellow right up on his toes and make him make good on his own account. I kind of wish I had telephoned to her to-night; it’ll be a couple of weeks at least before I can hit this burg again, and I’d like to have heard her voice——”
“You can ’phone in the morning,” Storm suggested, his eyes intent upon the path ahead. A figure was advancing toward them out of the darkness, and midway between them a street lamp shed broad rays. They would meet the stranger directly beneath it if they kept up their present gait. Storm halted deliberately and drew out his cigarette case. “Wait half a second till I get a light. Tell you what you can do, Jack. Stop over a train in Philadelphia with me to-morrow and call the lady up from there.”
Horton shook his head decisively.
“Not me! Once I get on my way in the morning I’m going to keep right on going,” he declared. “I don’t feel right in my mind yet about this little stop-over, but it sure has been worth it! The next time I come to town——”
The advancing figure passed under the rays of the lamp and was revealed as a blue-coated policeman swinging along idly but with a certain brisk watchfulness. Storm blew out his match and fell in step once more beside his companion.
“The next time you come, drop me a line ahead and we’ll fix up a little dinner with Holworthy and any of the rest I can find lying around the club,” he said suavely. “It is a good thing to get in touch with the old crowd now and then; livens a chap up and keeps him in the running.”
The policeman passed with only a casual glance at the two obviously respectable citizens, and his footsteps died away behind them. Only four blocks more!
“You bet it does!” Horton assented heartily. “Why, just running into you to-night like this and having a chat over old times has given me a new lease of life! I’ll like first rate to see old Holworthy and the rest again, but most of all I want you to meet my girl. She’s aces high, Norman, and you’ll agree with me when you know her. We’ll get her to shake the old lady for an evening and come to dinner—” he paused suddenly and added: “Say, we’ve come further than I thought. Hadn’t we better be getting back? I don’t want to cut short your stroll, but that bag back there is on my mind.”
“All right. Just let us go to the top of the hill here around the turn.” Storm threw his cigarette away and strove to speak casually, but his throat had become all at once parched and strained, and a tremor of excitement threatened his tones. “There’s a down-stream boat almost due, and I want you to see it come round the bend. I watch for it here nearly every night, and it’s a sight worth seeing. I suppose you’ll be taking a trip somewhere on your honeymoon?”
“Haven’t got as far as that yet!” Horton protested laughingly. “Oh, the little girl knows what is in the wind, all right—trust a woman for that!—but I haven’t put it up to her in so many words. I want to lay my pipes with the Mid-Eastern first and see where I’m likely to stand before I tackle her old man. He likes me fast enough, but when it comes to me horning in on the family he’ll expect me to spread my cards on the table, and I have not got much to show for the last twenty years except the trust of the people I’ve worked for.”
“That is a pretty big asset,” muttered Storm, his eyes on the brow of the hill just ahead. If he could keep Horton going, keep him talking until they reached that dark stretch and then, unsuspected, fall a step or two behind——! “It is a long step of the way toward success to gain the trust of your associates.”
“Sure!” the other responded with pardonable pride. “But it is not so much of an asset as an income producer to an old guy who has struggled all his life and then struck it rich all of a sudden; so rich and so easy that he figures any fellow who hasn’t done the same is a dub. But I’m not worrying; I’ve got it pretty good out there, and two or three more trips with the payroll will about be my finish. There’s going to be a big reorganization soon, and I mean to edge in then on the inside.”
Storm glanced hurriedly, keenly behind him. Not a figure was in sight, no sound broke the stillness save his companion’s voice and the whispering of the wind in the rows of trees along the deserted drive. On the other side of the low wall the ground dropped away into seemingly limitless space, while outward and far below the broad river waited. A few yards more, a few steps——
A sudden raucous honk blared upon the air, and over the top of the hill appeared a wildly careening motor car which bore down upon them and passed in a bedlam of screeching brakes and maudlin song.
An oath borne of his keyed-up nerves burst unbidden from Storm’s lips, and Horton turned.
“Gave you a start, eh?” he remarked. “This is a nice stretch of road on which to be flirting with death like that, isn’t it? Thirty miles an hour and a chance to see the scenery, that’s my motto; but then as I told you I’ve learned to play safe.”
“My nerves aren’t what thy used to be,” Storm admitted, listening intently. The roar of the car had diminished in the distance to a low humming whirr which seemed only to accentuate the silence. “Just at the turn of the path there ahead—I think the boat is coming. Do you see any lights on the river?”
Horton quickened his pace, peering expectantly out over the wall. He was sensible that Storm had fallen back and heard the click of his cigarette case and the rasp of a match.
“Just those bobbing down there on some tugs,” he announced. “A river steamer is a pretty sight at night, isn’t she? I remember——”
The words ended in a gasp as something crashed down hideously upon him from behind, and the world was blotted out. His body lurched, sagged, and slumped down in a crumpled heap against the wall.
Storm’s arm sank nervelessly to his side and a sickening wave of horror swept over him. Had Horton cried out, or had he himself? It seemed to him for an instant that tumultuous shouting rang in his ears, that footsteps were beating upon the pavement behind him, a myriad of lights flashing in his eyes. Then silence and darkness descended again, and a shuddering sigh escaped him. The blow had been struck, but had it been sufficiently heavy? Suppose Horton still lived! What if he survived to be found in the morning by some damnable chance and to name his assailant?
Storm bent swiftly over the body, and his groping fingers came in contact with the back of the head, only to be shrinkingly withdrawn. God, but that sturdy stick had done its work well! He had only to possess himself of the key to the closet and heave the body over the wall——
Then a swift thought brought beads of sweat out upon his brow. The cap! The maker’s name and his own initials were inside; suppose he had forgotten it! With fumbling, sticky fingers he felt about on the wet pavement. Thank heaven the puddles left by the rain had not dried!
The sinister stains would be obliterated, washed away——But where was the cap? Horton had been leaning toward the wall when the blow reached him; could the cap have fallen over and down, to be found on the morrow and traced?
With wild fear clutching at his heart, Storm straightened and groped feverishly along the wall. Was this to be the end, after his scheme had worked so smoothly; was he to be betrayed by the merest detail, one of the details which he had himself worked out to insure success? He felt along to the very edge of the wall, and then a sob of relief welled up in his throat; for his fingers had closed at last upon the cap, caught by a clutching tendril of vine as it must have fallen from the head of his victim.
He stuffed it into his coat pocket and stooping once more thrust his hand beneath that crumpled body and after a moment produced the key to the closet which contained the treasure. His! One hundred and twelve thousand——
But what was that light, quick tapping like hastily running feet? Storm recoiled and turned instinctively to flee, then by a supreme effort of will stayed the wild impulse. The tapping sounded there upon the wall close at hand; it was just a dead branch of the vine whipping in the wind. What a fool he was! Where had his nerve gone?
He must finish his job and quickly. That policeman would pass shortly again upon his rounds, or if not he, some strolling night prowler might appear at any moment to stumble over the body and raise an alarm. Every minute that he lingered there increased his danger, and yet he felt a loathsome repugnance at the thought of touching Horton again.
Nerving himself desperately he slipped his arms beneath the body and gave a convulsive heave. It jerked, swayed suddenly but slumped back again, and Storm’s breath came in a sobbing gasp. God, how heavy it was! Could he ever get it up to the top of the wall? The sweat poured like rain down his face, and with a mighty effort of strained and snapping muscles he lifted it from the pavement, poised it for a moment on the edge of the abyss and sent it crashing over and down.
Weak and trembling in the nausea of sickening reaction, he cowered back and listened. Would the thing ever stop rolling? The first thud and crash of underbrush was followed by a sound as of mighty beasts trampling through a forest, then a pattering hail of pebbles and then, at last, silence.
Swaying drunkenly, Storm groped for the cane, found it and turned. Every instinct impelled him to frenzied flight, to run while wind and limb retained strength to obey his will; yet beneath the shuddering terror which obsessed him he realized that he must walk slowly, casually, that no chance passer-by might connect this strolling pedestrian with the horror which lay behind.
Quivering with the effort to stay the mad impulse, he moved stiffly off down the path nor dared glance once behind him, although he could feel the gooseflesh rising upon his neck with the sensation of being watched by something supernatural, unclean! He must pass beneath the first street lamp, but in the shadows midway the block he could cross the bridle road and driveway and continue south on the sidewalk. It would not do to remain on the path; if he should encounter the policeman again, and the latter recognizing him, should question him, should question why only one returned where two had gone——
Each dragging step sent a spasm of nervous torture through his frame, but he gritted his teeth and held himself erect as he passed beneath the light, even giving a jaunty swing to the cane which seemed to gain weight with every moment that went. Twenty yards further he turned to cut across the driveway to the sidewalk, and as he did so a sound came from behind him that stilled the blood in his veins. It was merely the hoot of the fog horn on the river, but it came to him like the long-drawn wail of a soul in pain.
A sense of utter desolation swept over him with its echo, but he rallied it with a savage defiance. In spite of everything, in spite of fate itself, had he not won? The money was his, money for a life-time of travel and ease and forgetfulness! No one could trace him, not a clue had been overlooked. What if commonplace Jack Horton with his petty affairs and affections and ambitions had been snuffed out? He had taken one chance too many, that was all, and the Mid-Eastern could well afford their loss, while to Storm the contents of that bag meant reason, life itself!
Still that odd sense of loneliness oppressed him, and in spite of his eagerness to examine and gloat over his treasure, as he neared the apartment house his steps lagged. He realized all at once that he missed Horton’s presence, his easy, self-centered chatter. How confidently the fellow had boasted of his ‘girl’ and his prospects, talked of the future as a condition already brought to pass; and then at one blow, one single muscular effort of another, he had been sent into eternity!
What an easy thing it was to take a life and to evade the consequences, if only one used a modicum of courage and caution! Murder was nothing more, after all, than the twang of a pea shooter at a bird, the tap of a butcher’s hammer! A stealthy glow of elation stole over Storm’s spirit, stilling the qualms which had beset him, and a heady exhilaration coursed through his veins like wine. The future was his; he was invincible!
The elevator man still slumbered in the same position as when Storm had left the house, and he let himself into his own apartment with infinite caution, closing the door noiselessly behind him. He longed to drag the bag from its hiding place and thrust his hands into its contents in a very orgy of triumphant possession, but he reminded himself sternly that an imperative task still lay before him. Homachi must find no traces of a visitor when he came in the morning. Then, too, there were other possible evidences to consider . . .
Storm switched on the lights and examined his hands and clothing with minute care. The latter bore no stains which he could discover, but upon his fingers were brownish smears which made his gorge rise, and about the thumb-nail of his left hand—the hand which had come in contact with Horton’s fallen head—a thread of dull crimson had settled.
He turned to the bathroom in revolted haste when a fresh thought made him pause and grope for the pocket of his overcoat. The cap! Had the glancing but deadly blow which knocked it off to catch it by a miracle upon the vine spattered it with Horton’s blood? He drew it forth and smoothed it into a semblance of shape with shaking hands. It was damp and crumpled, but no spot marred its surface or lining; the blow had been too swift and sure!
Tossing it upon the rack, Storm made for the bathroom, where he scrubbed his hands until the flesh smarted before turning his attention to the cane itself. When he had dropped it upon the path in order to raise the body it must have fallen into a puddle left by the storm, for it bore no marks save the discoloration of dampness; yet to make sure he carried it into the kitchen and held its heavy head beneath the strong bow of water from the faucet in the sink, then polished it with a rough towel until it shone. How it reminded him of that other rounded knob of wood with the sinister smudge of blood upon it and the single golden hair . . .
What a timorous, morbid weakling he had been that night! Afraid of his own shadow, of every move and breath! Nothing could touch him now, nothing could harm him; no one could ever know!
He replaced the cane in the umbrella-stand and was turning again toward the kitchen when his eyes fell upon the center table in the living-room. There beneath the lamp lay the bronze ash tray ringed with cigar butts and filled with ashes. Again the thought came to him of that other tray with similar contents which he had scattered to the winds. Why not these also?Ashes to ashes.
Those other ashes had been symbolic of his deed and vanished at a mere gesture; these were the concrete evidences of Horton’s presence beneath his roof and yet might be as easily dispelled.
With a quick movement he pressed the button of the living-room switch, plunging the room in semi-gloom. Then, by the faint light which came in from the hallway, he made his way to the window and opened it. Not a soul in sight, not a sound save the rustle of the wind in the trees across the drive!
Storm caught up the tray from the table and gripping it firmly flung its contents far outward with all his strength lest any of the cigar stumps fall upon the sidewalk or in the gutter directly before him. On the instant the wind rose in a sweeping gust, and it seemed to him that he could see the gray handful spread out in a haze and swirl away into the void of night.
There stole over him once more that glow of achievement, as of some strange and pagan ritual performed, and he was closing the window when again there came the lingering, challenging, deep-throated note of a ship’s fog horn upon the river. He shivered, in spite of himself, for to his distorted imagination it held no longer a wail as of a passing soul; rather, it sounded a menace and a warning, an awesome portent of doom.