he insistency of this thing.
Yes, he would send her the money. He'd take it to her--he would go up
there and have a talk with her, and that at once.

He put on his hat and looked around for his umbrella. He would have some
arrangement of this thing.

He called a cab and was driven through the dreary rain to the North
Side. On the way his temper cooled as he thought of the details of the
case. What did she know? What had she done? Maybe she'd got hold of
Carrie, who knows--or--or Drouet. Perhaps she really had evidence, and
was prepared to fell him as a man does another from secret ambush.
She was shrewd. Why should she taunt him this way unless she had good
grounds?

He began to wish that he had compromised in some way or other--that he
had sent the money. Perhaps he could do it up here. He would go in and
see, anyhow. He would have no row. By the time he reached his own street
he was keenly alive to the difficulties of his situation and wished over
and over that some solution would offer itself, that he could see his
way out. He alighted and went up the steps to the front door, but it was
with a nervous palpitation of the heart. He pulled out his key and tried
to insert it, but another key was on the inside. He shook at the knob,
but the door was locked. Then he rang the bell. No answer. He rang
again--this time harder. Still no answer. He jangled it fiercely several
times in succession, but without avail. Then he went below.

There was a door which opened under the steps into the kitchen,
protected by an iron grating, intended as a safeguard against burglars.
When he reached this he noticed that it also was bolted and that the
kitchen windows were down. What could it mean? He rang the bell and then
waited. Finally, seeing that no one was coming, he turned and went back
to his cab.

"I guess they've gone out," he said apologetically to the individual who
was hiding his red face in a loose tarpaulin raincoat.

"I saw a young girl up in that winder," returned the cabby.

Hurstwood looked, but there was no face there now. He climbed moodily
into the cab, relieved and distressed.

So this was the game, was it? Shut him out and make him pay. Well, by
the Lord, that did beat all!

Chapter XXV. ASHES OF TINDER--THE LOOSING OF STAYS

When Hurstwood got back to his office again he was in a greater quandary
than ever. Lord, Lord, he thought, what had he got into? How could
things have taken such a violent turn,