Before going to bed that night Torrence told me that he should probably
be absent a couple of days attending to the final equipment of the
machine; and when I bid him good-night it was with the understanding
that we should not meet for a day or two. He would certainly return
before the end of the week; and I was to have everything ready for
leaving at a moment’s notice, as he was anxious there should be no
delay. That was on Tuesday. Imagine, therefore, my surprise upon
seeing him enter my bedroom at a late hour Wednesday night. I had been
in bed long enough to fall asleep, and was aroused by a light shining in
my eyes. There was a strange look in Torry’s face, and I started up
alarmed.
"Hello!" I cried, jumping up. "What’s the matter? Has any thing
happened?"
Torrence put his finger to his lips and said:
"Hush! Be quiet! Don’t be scared, but get up at once and do as I tell
you without losing a moment’s time!"
I did as I was bid; and dressed as hurriedly as possible, not doubting
but the climax I had so long dreaded had come at last.
"We must be off immediately," said he, as I was putting the finishing
touches to my toilet. There was something too dead earnest in his look
and manner to permit of a single question.
"The trunks are quite ready," I observed; my teeth chattering with
excitement.
"Damn the trunks! We must leave them behind. Have you the package?"
I showed it to him, sewed in my pocket.
Torrence looked at his watch.
"What o’clock is it?" I inquired.
"Nearly one," he answered reflectively, and then turning to me, he added
with a look I shall never forget.
"Now, Gurt, if you have any nerve, I shall expect you to show it, No
flunking or crawling, mind! Do exactly as I say, and without question
or hesitation."
I nodded assent, for I could not speak. I saw something bulky under his
coat, and wondered what it could be; but it was no time for such an
inquiry.
Torrence then opened the door into the hall softly, and put out the
light.
"Follow me; but walk quietly and don’t speak a word," he said, leading
the way.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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