The Washington times., 1913-02-12
CHAPTER III.A(Continued.)
EANING the bag in The parcels
room at the Grand Central sta
tion, he went downtown to his
Office and put in a busy morn

4
ton, he went downtown to hi.
Office and put in busy morn,
| ing.
Happily. his partner, Drummond. was
out of town for the day. so he was able
20 put his desk in order unhindered by
! awkward questionings.
| He worked expediously. having no
callers until just before he was ready to
| leave.
Then he was Obliged to admit one
who desired to make settlement in an
| action brought against him by Messrs.
DruInmond & Whitaker.
he took Whitaker's receipt for the
payment in cash, leaving behind him
| fifteen 500 notes.
Whitaker regarded this circumstance
! as splendid dispensation of Providence
| 20 save him the bother of stopping at the
bank on his way uptown; drew his per-
sonal check for the right amount, and
left ii with memorandum under the
paperweight on Drummond's desk; put
& match TO a shredded pile of personal
correspondence In the fireplace, and
caught a train from the Grand Central
at 1:03.
Not until the cars were In motion did
he experience any sense of security
from Peter stark.
He had been apprehensive until that
moment of some unanticipated move on
the part of his friend; Peter was cap
able of wide but sure casts of intuition
on occasion, especially where his affec-
tons were touched.
But now Whitaker felt free-free to
abandon himself to meditative despair,
and he did so, as he did most things,
thoroughly. He plunged headlong INTO
an everlasting black pit of terror.
He considered the world through the
eyes Of a man sick unto death, ara
found it without health.
Behind him lay his home, a city with
out a heart place of pointing fingers
and poisoned tongues.
Before him the brief path of fear that
he must tread. his broken, sword-Nide
span leaping out over the abyss,
He was anything but a patient man
at all times, and anything but sane in
that dark hour.
Cold horror crawIed In his brain like
a delirium-a horror of himself, Of his
morbid fesh-of that moribund oody
unfit to sheath the clean fire Of life.
The thought of struggling TO keep ami
mate that corrupt self, tainted by the
breath OF death, was invincibly terrible
to him.
All sense of human obligation disap-
peared from his cosmos remained only
the biting hunger for eternal peace. rest,
freedom from the bondage of existence
At about 4 o'clock the train stopped
to drop the dining car.
Wholly swayed by blind impulse.
Whitaker got UP, took his handbag and
left the car.
On the station platform he found him
self pelted by a pouring rain. He had
left town in a sodden drizzle, dull and
dismal enough in all conscience; here
was a dovnpour out of a sky three
shades lighter than india ink. 1t was a
steadfast, grim rain that sluiced the
streets as with gigantic fire hose.
brimming the cutters with boiling, mud
dy torrents.
The last TO leave the train. he found
himself without a choice of convey
ances; but one Remained at the edge
of the platform. an aged and decrepit
four-wheeler, whose patriarchal driver
upon the box might have been Death
himself masauerading in dripping black
oilskins
To Whitaker's inquiry, he recommend
ed .'th C'mercial House"
Whitaker agreed. and imprisoned him
self in the body OF the vehicle. sitting
on stained and faded. threadbare cusn-
ions. in company with two distinct
odors-of dank and musty upholstery
and stale tuberoses. AS IL rocked AMI
craWled away it's blind windows wept
increasingly, and increasingly the rain
drummed the long roll on its roof.
In time il stopped before a rambling
structure whose weatherooarded facade,
white with taking paint. bore the leg
end Commercial House.
Whitaker paid his fare. and. unas-
sister. carried his handbag up the steps
and across the rain-swept veranda into