Out of the corner of his eye, Watson glanced at Wilkinson; that gentleman was holding his gaze upon his watch. It all seemed safe.... So Watson obeyed, running swiftly down the broad hall and swiftly up the stairs. "Get a move on, Hawkins," he whispered; "he's down there all alone." The multi-millionaire waited until Watson was well out of sight, then going quietly to the open door he passed through, and walking rapidly to the corner of the street, turned and disappeared--disappeared, and that was all that could be said about it. No, there was this to be said: His trunks went on to Maine, and when opened there later were found to reek with poison--anæsthetics, chiefly, that stupefied and killed; while tucked away in one corner was a gun. Wilkinson had been cunning: he had done things under the nose of Hawkins that Hawkins had not surmised, much less seen. But Wilkinson had not quite disappeared after all! There were some who saw him after his disappearance, though they were not members of his household, nor were they officials in the employ of the county or State: they were casual observers, mere pleasure-seekers down at Brighton Beach. For later on that day a man with a bristling beard stepped into Obermeyer's Bathing Pavilion at the Beach, stepped up to the desk, as he had done several times before,--for Wilkinson loved promiscuity--he was essentially of the people,--and nodding to the clerk, passed out his wallet, his pin and other valuables, sealed them in an envelope, writing his name quite plainly upon it, and handed it to the man behind the desk. The recipient glanced at the name, glanced at the man interestedly, then gave him a fifty-cent bathing-suit, two checks on rubber strings and a key; and Wilkinson, taking these, proceeded to his allotted booth. "Can I check that, too?" the clerk called after him, referring to a brown paper parcel which Wilkinson carried under his arm. But Wilkinson shook his head, and the incident passed out of the clerk's mind, for the next man was becoming angrily insistent. Once inside his booth, Peter V. stripped to the skin and donned the bathing-suit. So far he had followed the prescribed method of bathers at Obermeyer's as well as every other pavilion in the universe. But at this juncture he departed from custom: For having donned the bathing-suit, he did not, as other men do, unlock the door and run flat-footed to the beach; instead, he opened the brown paper bundle and looked over its contents with considerable satisfaction. It contained a complete suit of underwear, clothing, hat and shoes--all second-hand; and over his Obermeyer bathing-suit he drew on these clothes, one by one, jamming the soft, felt hat upon his head. Then folding up the brown paper he tied it carefully with the string, and placed it in the side-pocket of his coat, taking good care at the same time to remove from the trousers pocket of the suit he had discarded a goodly roll of bills.