Davenport had surely taken that money with him on
leaving the house the next morning. Larcher opened his lips, but
something checked him. He had come by the knowledge of that money in a
way that seemed to warrant his ignoring it. Davenport had manifestly
wished to keep it a secret. It was not yet time to tell everything.
"Of course," said Larcher, "he might have met with an accident."
"I've looked through the newspapers yesterday, and to-day, but there's
nothing about him, or anybody like him. There was an unknown man knocked
down by a street-car, but he was middle-aged, and had a black mustache."
"And you're positively sure Mr. Davenport would have let you know if he'd
meant to stay away so long?"
"Yes, sir, I am. Especially that morning he'd have spoke of it, for he
met me in the hall and paid me the next four weeks' room rent in
advance."
"But that very fact looks as if he thought he mightn't see you for some
time."
"No, because he's often done that. He'll come and say, 'I've got a little
money ahead, Mrs. Haze, and I might as well make sure of a roof over me
for another month.' He knew I gener'ly--had use for money whenever it
happened along. He was a kind-hearted--I mean he _is_ a kind-hearted man.
Hear me speakin' of him as if--What's that?"
It was a man's step on the stairs. With a sudden gladness, Larcher turned
to the door of the room. The two waited, with smiles ready. The step came
almost to the threshold, receded along the passage, and mounted the
flight above.
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