"Or rather, you do as
you like--and I'll do the same."
"Well, I'm not going to commit suicide anyhow," Curtis sneered. "We
haven't the money to buy poison--and I've no mind to drown myself or
cut my throat--they're too painful! If we don't go on doing what we've
done to-night, what are we going to do?"
"Trust to luck," Kelson sighed.
"All right--you trust to luck--but I won't trust any more in
Providence, and that's a fact," Curtis retorted. "We've been done
enough. Now I'm for doing other people. Good-night."
He tumbled into the makeshift bed as he spoke; and in a few minutes,
worn out after the unwonted exertions of the evening, both men were
fast asleep.
They were at breakfast next morning--real _dejeuner a la
carte_--sausages, bread, water--and they were doing ample justice to
it, when some one rapped at the door. For a few seconds there was
silence. Their hearts stood still. Had they been followed, after all?
Was it the police? Some one spoke--and they breathed again. It was
Hamar.
"This looks like starving, I must say!" Hamar exclaimed, as he sniffed
his way into the room and sat on the bed. "Why, from what you fellows
told me last night I thought you were cleared out. And here you are,
stuffing like roosters! You look a bit surprised to see me, but you'll
look more surprised, I reckon, when I tell you what brings me here.
You remember that book?"
Kelson and Curtis nodded.
"Well," Hamar went on.
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