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.”
Chapter XXVIII
A Pilgrim, an Outlaw — The Spirit Detained
The cab had not travelled a short block before Carrie, settling herself and thoroughly waking in the night atmosphere, asked:
“What’s the matter with him? Is he hurt badly?”
“It isn’t anything very serious,” Hurstwood said solemnly. He was very much disturbed over his own situation, and now that he had Carrie with him, he only wanted to get safely out of reach of the law. Therefore he was in no mood for anything save such words as would further his plans distinctly.
Carrie did not forget that there was something to be settled between her and Hurstwood, but the thought was ignored in her agitation. The one thing was to finish this strange pilgrimage.
“Where is he?”
“Way out on the South Side,” said Hurstwood. “We’ll have to take the train. It’s the quickest way.”
Carrie said nothing, and the horse gambolled on. The weirdness of the city by night held her attention. She looked at the long receding rows of lamps and studied the dark, silent houses.
“How did he hurt himself?” she asked — meaning what was the nature of his injuries. Hurstwood understood. He hated to lie any more than necessary, and yet he wanted no protests until he was out of danger.
“I don’t know exactly,” he said. “They just called me up to go and get you and bring you out. They said there wasn’t any need for alarm, but that I shouldn’t fail to bring you.”
The man’s serious manner convinced Carrie, and she became silent, wondering.
Hurstwood examined his watch and urged the man to hurry. For one in so delicate a position he was exceedingly cool. He could only think of how needful it was to make the train and get quietly away. Carrie seemed quite tractable, and he congratulated himself.
In due time they reached the depot, and after helping her out he handed the man a five-dollar bill and hurried on.
“You wait here,” he said to Carrie, when they reached the waiting-room, “while I get the tickets.”
“Have I much time to catch that train for Detroit?” he asked of the agent.
“Four minutes,” said the latter.
He paid for two tickets as circumspectly as possible.
“Is it far?” said Carrie, as he hurried back.
“Not very,” he said. “We must get right in.”
He pushed her before him at the gate, stood between her and the ticket man while the latter punched their tickets, so that she could not see, and then hurried after.
There was a long line of express and passenger cars and one or two common day coaches. As the train had only recently been made up and few passengers were expected, there were only one or two brakemen waiting. They entered the rear day coach and sat down. Almost immediately, “All aboard,” resounded faintly from the outside, and the train started.
Carrie began to think it was a little bit curious — this going to a depot — but said nothing. The whole incident was so out of the natural that she did not attach too much weight to anything she imagined.
“How have you been?” asked Hurstwood gently, for he now breathed easier.
“Very well,” said Carrie, who was so disturbed that she could not bring a proper attitude to bear in the matter. She was still nervous to reach Drouet and see what could be the matter. Hurstwood contemplated her and felt this. He was not disturbed that it should be so. He did not trouble because she was moved sympathetically in the matter. It was one of the qualities in her which pleased him exceedingly. He was only thinking how he should explain. Even this was not the most serious thing in his mind, however. His own deed and present flight were the great shadows which weighed upon him.
“What a fool I was to do that,” he said over and over. “What a mistake!”
In his sober senses, he could scarcely realise that the thing had been done. He could not begin to feel that he was a fugitive from justice. He had often read of such things, and had thought they must be terrible, but now that the thing was upon him, he only sat and looked into the past. The future was a thing which concerned the Canadian line. He wanted to reach that. As for the rest he surveyed his actions for the evening, and counted them parts of a great mistake.
“Still,” he said, “what could I have done?”
Then he would decide to make the best of it, and would begin to do so by starting the whole inquiry over again. It was a fruitless, harassing round, and left him in a queer mood to deal with the proposition he had in the presence of Carrie.
The
