He began to wish that he had compromised in some way or other-that he had sent the money.  Perhaps he could do it up here.  He would go in and see, anyhow.  He would have no row.  By the time he reached his own street he was keenly alive to the difficulties of his situation and wished over and over that some solution would offer itself, that he could see his way out.  He alighted and went up the steps to the front door, but it was with a nervous palpitation of the heart.  He pulled out his key and tried to insert it, but another key was on the inside.  He shook at the knob, but the door was locked.  Then he rang the bell.  No answer.  He rang again—­this time harder.  Still no answer.  He jangled it fiercely several times in succession, but without avail.  Then he went below.

There was a door which opened under the steps into the kitchen, protected by an iron grating, intended as a safeguard against burglars.  When he reached this he noticed that it also was bolted and that the kitchen windows were down.  What could it mean?  He rang the bell and then waited.  Finally, seeing that no one was coming, he turned and went back to his cab.

“I guess they’ve gone out,” he said apologetically to the individual who was hiding his red face in a loose tarpaulin raincoat.

“I saw a young girl up in that winder,” returned the cabby.

Hurstwood looked, but there was no face there now.  He climbed moodily into the cab, relieved and distressed.

So this was the game, was it?  Shut him out and make him pay.  Well, by the Lord, that did beat all!

Chapter XXV ASHES OF TINDER—­THE LOOSING OF STAYS

When Hurstwood got back to his office again he was in a greater quandary than ever.  Lord, Lord, he thought, what had he got into?  How could things have taken such a violent turn, and so quickly?  He could hardly realize how it had all come about.  It seemed a monstrous, unnatural, unwarranted condition which had suddenly descended upon him without his let or hindrance.

Meanwhile he gave a thought now and then to Carrie.  What could be the trouble in that quarter?  No letter had come, no word of any kind, and yet here it was late in the evening and she had agreed to meet him that morning.  To-morrow they were to have met and gone off—­where?  He saw that in the excitement of recent events he had not formulated a plan upon that score.  He was desperately in love, and would have taken great chances to win her under ordinary circumstances, but now—­now what?  Supposing she had found out something?  Supposing she, too, wrote him and told him that she knew all—­that she would have nothing more to do with him?  It would be just like this to happen as things were going now.  Meanwhile he had not sent the money.