"Do you think it is going to rain, driver?" called Nick, from the rear
seat of the carriage.
"Not soon," Dalton turned to answer; and then he added with grim
significance, which he did not dream would be appreciated: "Whether it
rains or not, you'll be brought back home in a closed carriage."
"It's my private opinion that the boot will be on the other leg,"
thought Nick, smiling faintly at the scoundrel's grim levity.
For Dalton had implied that Nick would be brought back in a hearse.
From that time but few words were spoken during the ride, though the
detectives occasionally passed a remark in their meaningless lingo,
merely to keep up appearances.
At eight o'clock they had left the throbbing body of the city behind
them, and at half-past eight they were speeding along the deserted
suburban road leading to Venner's rather isolated homestead.
Only the yellow glare of an incandescent lamp here and there now
relieved the terrestrial gloom, but across the distant heavens
intermittent flashes of light, followed by the low, sullen roll of
thunder, told of the approaching storm.
Soon the lighted windows of Venner's house came into view through the
woodland, and Nick now murmured softly to Chick:
"If I fail to rejoin you in ten minutes, you will know what to do.
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