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PDF“I wish I hadn’t done that,” he said. “That was a mistake.”
He walked steadily down the street, greeting a night watchman whom he knew who was trying doors. He must get out of the city, and that quickly.
“I wonder how the trains run?” he thought.
Instantly he pulled out his watch and looked. It was nearly half-past one.
At the first drugstore he stopped, seeing a long-distance telephone booth inside. It was a famous drugstore, and contained one of the first private telephone booths ever erected. “I want to use your ’phone a minute,” he said to the night clerk.
The latter nodded.
“Give me 1643,” he called to Central, after looking up the Michigan Central depot number. Soon he got the ticket agent.
“How do the trains leave here for Detroit?” he asked.
The man explained the hours.
“No more to-night?”
“Nothing with a sleeper. Yes, there is, too,” he added. “There is a mail train out of here at three o’clock.”
“All right,” said Hurstwood. “What time does that get to Detroit?”
He was thinking if he could only get there and cross the river into Canada, he could take his time about getting to Montreal. He was relieved to learn that it would reach there by noon.
“Mayhew won’t open the safe till nine,” he thought. “They can’t get on my track before noon.”
Then he thought of Carrie. With what speed must he get her, if he got her at all. She would have to come along. He jumped into the nearest cab standing by.
“To Ogden Place,” he said sharply. “I’ll give you a dollar more if you make good time.”
The cabby beat his horse into a sort of imitation gallop which was fairly fast, however. On the way Hurstwood thought what to do. Reaching the number, he hurried up the steps and did not spare the bell in waking the servant.
“Is Mrs. Drouet in?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the astonished girl.
“Tell her to dress and come to the door at once. Her husband is in the hospital, injured, and wants to see her.”
The servant girl hurried upstairs, convinced by the man’s strained and emphatic manner.
“What!” said Carrie, lighting the gas and searching for her clothes.
“Mr. Drouet is hurt and in the hospital. He wants to see you. The cab’s downstairs.”
Carrie dressed very rapidly, and soon appeared below, forgetting everything save the necessities.
“Drouet is hurt,” said Hurstwood quickly. “He wants to see you. Come quickly.”
Carrie was so bewildered that she swallowed the whole story.
“Get in,” said Hurstwood, helping her and jumping after.
The cabby began to turn the horse around. “Michigan Central depot,” he said, standing up and speaking so low that Carrie could not hear, “as fast as you can go.”
