His spirits took wing
again as the close of the day drew down upon him. He had waited, with
all the stoicism of the born gambler, for the crash and it had not
come; he had taken the chance; to use his own expression, he "stood
pat."
At six o'clock he threw away his half-smoked cigar and sauntered forth
from the hotel. The Colonel was very punctilious in that respect: he
made it a point not to smoke in the street.
Although he was now quite comfortably sure that there was no immediate
danger of arrest, he still was confronted by the ugly certainty that
Tom Braddock was hard upon his heels and that no amount of persuasion
could have turned him from his purpose. His blood went cold from time
to time when he permitted himself to recall the set, implacable
expression in the man's face, and the tigerish strength that marked
every repressed movement of his body. Robert Grand knew that
Braddock's sole object in life now was to kill him. He knew that the
meeting could not long be deferred; and when it came, he would not
have one chance in a thousand against this wily, determined giant.
Braddock would accomplish his end, of that he was as sure as he was
certain that the sun would rise in the morning.
Pages:
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530