It can not be said that he was altogether surprised when he found
their cottage dark and apparently deserted. He had half expected
this. Entering, and not stopping to secure a candle, he groped
his way up-stairs to the room on the second floor which he and
the judge shared.
"Price!" he called, but this gained him no response, and he
cursed softly under his breath.
He hastily descended to the kitchen, lighted a candle, and
stepped into the adjoining room. On the table was a neat pile of
papers, and topping the pile was the president's letter. Being
burdened by no false scruples, and thinking it might afford some
clue to the judge's whereabouts, Mahaffy took it up and read it.
Having mastered its contents he instantly glanced in the
direction of the City Tavern, but it was wrapped in darkness.
"Price is drunk somewhere," was his definite conclusion. "But
he'll be at Boggs' the first thing in the morning--most likely so
far gone he can hardly stand!" The letter, with its striking
news, made little or no impression on him just then; it merely
furnished the clue he had sought. The judge was off somewhere
marketing his prospects.
After a time Mahaffy went up-stairs, and, without removing his
clothes, threw himself on the bed. He was worn down to the point
of exhaustion, yet he could not sleep, though the deep silence
warned him that day was not far off. What if--but he would not
let the thought shape itself in his mind.
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