THE OUTLAW
I shook my head at Clyde, and returned to the sitting room. "Have you
seen Clyde since the news came out, Mr. Hilton?" the energetic
reporter demanded, as I was passing the cigars around.
"I have been out of town. I only returned last evening."
"It seems that he left his office without any instructions, and nobody
knows how to get his orders. And at his home nothing is known. He
simply walked out of the door and disappeared."
"Then the chances are that he is far enough away by this time."
"But he'll be caught," the man said confidently. "It is one of the
hardest things in the world for a man to be lost in this world of
rapid communication. His description has been wired all over the
country. The police in every city in the land will have their
eyes open. Sooner or later--and the chances are that it will be
sooner--some one will tap him on the shoulder and say, 'You're wanted,
Mr. Clyde.' And he'll forget himself and answer to the name. They all
do it. Sooner or later."
He wagged his head wisely.
"That's so," chimed in the others, and story after story was told of
the unconscious way in which men in hiding would betray themselves. It
was entertaining enough, but I was on needles to have them go, and I
got rid of them as soon as I could. I waited until I saw them actually
leave the building before I dared let Clyde out of the bedroom. He
came out smiling and undisturbed.
"Are your prophetic friends safely out of the way?" he asked.
"All gone. How in the name of mystery did you get in here?"
"You look more surprised than hospitable!"
"And more anxious than either, I dare say, if my looks show my
feelings. How are you going to get away?"
"Walk away. And very soon. But first, I wonder if you could get me
something to eat. Absurd how dependent we civilized beings are on our
meals! There may be more serious matters to be considered, but at
present my chief anxiety is as to whether you happen to have a box of
crackers and a piece of cheese in your rooms."
"We'll do better than that," I answered, and I promptly telephoned to
a near-by restaurant for a substantial meal.
"Now, while we are waiting, tell me how you got in," I said.
"Oh, that was easy. I simply walked up. I thought I should find you,
but you are an abominably early riser. The maids were cleaning the
rooms, and so I simply watched for an opportunity to slip into one
room while they were in the other. You have comfortable diggings here,
and I commend your taste in pictures, but I vow I never saw so hungry
a place in my life."
"Have you really had nothing all day?"
"Nothing since yesterday noon. It was about the middle of the
afternoon yesterday that a fellow came to my office,--a man I had
never seen. He told me that he was a typesetter on the Samovar. 'Beg
pardon,' he said, 'but you're Mr. Clyde, aren't you?' I acknowledged
it. He said, 'I'm a machine operator on the Samovar, and I had a
"take" just now that had a story about you in it. Some dirty story
about your having been convicted of murder and escaping before you
were hung.' 'Indeed?' I said. 'It was kind of you to warn me. To whom
am I indebted?' He looked down and shuffled his feet. 'Oh, I'm nothing
but a machine operator, but I don't want to see a man that is bucking
the ring knifed.' And that is all that I know about him."
"Some local politician, probably."
"Yes," he laughed. "It is a queer world, the way we are bound up with
each other. If I hadn't accepted that nomination on the Citizens'
ticket, that bow-legged little machine man, who probably had to lose a
day's wage to get away and warn me, would never have bothered. He took
the trouble because I was _his_ candidate."
"By the way, I saw Miss Thurston to-day. She gave me this letter to
get to you if I should have a chance." And I gave him her letter and
turned away to arrange his supper while he should read it. I rather
fancy he forgot his hunger for a few minutes. I could guess something
of what Miss Thurston must have written by his face. It was white with
emotion when he finished. He put the letter into his pocket-book,
carefully. Then he turned to me, half laughing but without speaking,
and wrung my hand. We understood each other without anything further.
"What, specifically, did you come back for?" I asked, while he was
eating.
"Well, partly because the enemy would be looking for me elsewhere, but
chiefly because I had to get some money. How much have you about you?"
I emptied my pockets and spread the loot before him.
"Not so bad," he said. "I'll give you a check for it, and date it
yesterday. Then I should like to have you, as my lawyer, take
possession of the papers in my desk. There are insurance policies that
have to be taken care of, and some other matters that can't be
neglected. And the Lord knows when I can come back."
"No one else knows," I assured him.
He smiled. I could see that he was too uplifted to really care very
much about such trivialities as I had my mind upon.
"You don't advise me to stay and brazen it out, then?" he said,
quizzically.
"On the contrary, I advise you to clear out. I don't see the ghost of
a chance for you if the law gets its hands upon you."
"Then a judicial error can never be corrected?"
"The only thing that would give us any excuse for reopening the case
would be some new evidence having a bearing on the situation. Have you
any reason to suppose that you can unearth any significant facts now
which you could not discover when the affair was fresh in the memory
of everyone?"
He shook his head. "No. That looks hopeless, I must admit. You advise
me, then, to bury myself somewhere beyond reach of the extradition
laws?"
"Exactly. And, considering everything, I can imagine worse fates."
He smiled. "So can I," he said musingly. For a man with a price on his
head, he seemed singularly happy. It was clear that the letter in his
pocket was the most potent writ in the world just then.
Then he put dreams aside, and gave me specific directions as to
certain matters of business that he wished looked after. It was on
toward eleven o'clock before our talk was finished, and he rose to his
feet.
"What are your plans now?" I asked.
"To get out of town, first. I must walk. Let me have that stick of
yours, will you? I think I shall have to go stooping over a cane, to
escape notice. And when I have an address to give you, I'll let you
know."
"All right," I agreed.
He pulled his hat into a bedraggled shape over his ears, and walked
stiffly about the room, bent over the cane. I had not guessed him
so good an actor. I walked with him down the street a few minutes
later,--and I knew that he carried a lighter heart into exile than he
had carried through all the popularity and success of the last fifteen
years. After making sure that he was not followed or observed, I left
him, and returned home. I took a different route, one that brought me
through a little park, where a fountain plashed in the soft night air,
and the trees bent over the benches whereon homeless tramps and cosy
"twos" enjoyed the last minute of freedom. As I crossed the park by
one of the diagonal asphalt paths, my eye was caught by the familiar
aspect of the drooping shoulders of a man who sat beside a girl on a
secluded bench. It looked like Fellows. He moved slightly, and I saw
that I was not mistaken. That he should be spending the evening in the
park was not remarkable, but that he should be in close conversation
with a girl was distinctly surprising. But I was very glad to see it.
A girl would be the best panacea for his moodiness. I would not
embarrass him by giving any sign of recognition. I therefore walked
past with my eyes ahead, but just as I came opposite, the girl moved
and the light of the street lamp fell on her face. I had seen her
before,--for a minute I could not remember where. Then it came to me.
She was Minnie Doty, Mr. Ellison's housemaid. How in the name of
wonder had Fellows picked up an acquaintance with her?
I wished afterwards that my delicacy had not led me to go by without
speaking.