What next?

That was the question with Carlos Conrad, as he stood alone by the railroad track, the cool night air blowing softly about him. The moon shone brightly, and objects on which the light fell stood out in bold distinctness, while those in the shadows were rendered doubly obscure.

He stood in irresolution. He did not know which way to turn, for with daylight would come pursuit, and probably capture.

He half regretted the step he had taken. He had no refuge to fly to, no friends to conceal him, no means of disguise. To the right and left were the long lines of railroad track, in front and behind were fields, and woods, and distant farm-houses. He felt friendless and almost hopeless.

While standing thus in gloomy reflection, he saw a bright light far down the track. It was the head-light of a locomotive just coming around the curve. It was coming from the direction of Hillsdale, and must have met the train which Carlos had so recently quitted. As it approached its speed slackened, and, moving slower and slower, it finally drew up at the tower to take in a supply of water.

Obeying a sudden impulse, Carlos ran back into a field, took a circuit around the water-tower, and came up beyond it to the track where the passenger cars stood.

The whistle sounded, the bell rang, and the train started. He sprang unobserved on the platform of one of the cars, opened the door, and walked coolly in. He took a vacant seat, pulled his hat down over his eyes and settled himself into a comfortable position.

The train was soon under headway and tearing along at the rate of forty miles an hour toward Dalton.

Carlos realized that he was incurring a great risk. He might be rushing into the very arms of pursuers; for that there would be pursuers was, of course, not to be doubted. It was even possible that the officer from whom he had escaped had discovered his loss in time to transfer himself to the returning train, the one on which Carlos was now riding. He might lay his hands on him at any moment.

Carlos was aware that he faced this possibility, as also that of there being those present at the Dalton depot who would recognize him. This latter danger, however, he considered not to be imminent, on account of the lateness of the hour.

But he was in a reckless mood, and was not dismayed by the prospect.

The conductor came through the car and touched him on the shoulder, at the same time peering into his face.

“Did Isee your ticket, sir?”

“No; Ihave none. Can Igo through on this train to New York?”

“Yes. Where did you get on?”

Carlos hesitated.

“At Hillsdale,” he said, after a pause. “Idid not have time to buy a ticket. What is the fare?”

“Adollar and sixty cents to the Junction,” replied the conductor. “There you change cars.”

“Where is the Junction?”

“Thirty miles beyond Dalton.”

“Will there be any delay?”

“About five minutes.”

The fare was paid and the conductor passed on.

Carlos now ventured to look around the car. No one appeared to be taking particular notice of him. Many were asleep, a few were trying to read by the flickering light of the lamps overhead, and others were staring patiently into vacancy.

There was nothing alarming in the aspect, and now, seeing that he was not pursued, Carlos began to feel anxious and nervous again. The certainty of calamity is not nearly so disquieting as a sense of proximity, with a possibility of escape. The suspense attendant on this latter condition was soon augmented by the approach to Dalton. He had begun to feel that he might possibly reach New York unmolested, and in that city he hoped to find a safe retreat. Hope and apprehensiveness struggled for the mastery within him, and when the cars drew up at the Dalton depot the conflict was at its height. But, by a violent effort, he calmed himself and betrayed no anxiety.

An incident now occurred that filled him at first with surprise and terror, and afterward with wonderment and perplexity.

Geoffrey Haywood stepped aboard and entered the same car Carlos occupied.

The emotions of the latter may be imagined better than described. He watched the new-comer spell-bound.

But Mr.Geoffrey Haywood seemed to be occupied with affairs of his own. He dropped into the first seat that presented itself, and, looking neither to the right nor the left, buried himself in meditation.

And after the cars had started again, and were fairly under weigh, it became apparent that the presence of Carlos was in the furthest degree remote from his thoughts.

With intense relief, Carlos furtively watched his further movements.

Mr.Haywood’s journey was not a long one. He got off at the next stopping-place, still preserving his pre-occupied air. Carlos marveled greatly at his action. What could be the object of this short journey at such a time of night? He could devise no solution to the query, and so, endeavoring to dismiss the subject from his mind, he congratulated himself on the fact that his greatest danger was now past.

The journey to New York was accomplished without further incident. At the junction, where the change was made, there was the usual bustle and hurry, but no one was as yet on the track of the escaped prisoner. About seven o’clock in the morning the train reached the city.

Immediately on alighting, Carlos astonished a vociferating hackman by promptly accepting his tender of a conveyance.

“Iwant you to take me, as quickly as possible, to Duncan & Mishler’s, No. —— Broadway. Start immediately, without waiting for any other passengers, and your pay shall be five dollars.”

“Yes, sir,” responded the hackman, with alacrity. He sprang to his seat, while Carlos drew back in the carriage, concealing himself as well as possible from the observation of outsiders.

In obedience to a word and a crack of the whip, the horses sprang forward, and rattled through the noisy streets at a good pace.

About half-past seven they halted before one of those palaces devoted to trade that abound in all their glory on the principal thoroughfare of the city of New York.

Duncan & Mishler were importers, as has been mentioned, and this was their wholesale store.

Carlos paid the hackman, and, walking up to a short flight of stone steps, met a porter with a feather duster in his hand. He was just about finishing his work of sweeping and dusting the store in preparation for the day’s business.

“Good-morning,” said Carlos. “I suppose Mr.Duncan is not here yet this morning.”

“No, sir,” replied the porter. “He won’t be down till nine o’clock.”

Carlos paused a moment in hesitation.

“Did you have a good trip, sir?” asked the porter.

“Agood trip?” echoed Carlos, not certain of the man’s meaning.

“Yes, sir. Imean did you sell many goods?”

It immediately struck Carlos that the porter mistook him for one of the traveling agents, or “drummers” of the establishment. He resolved to humor the error.

“Oh, Ihad fair success,” he replied, carelessly.

“Mr. Carter came in from the West day before yesterday,” said the porter, “and said he found trade mighty dull. He started out again last night.”

“Ah,” replied Carlos, “Ihope he’ll have good luck. But Iwish to see Mr.Duncan particularly. Iwonder if there would be any objection to my waiting in his private office. My business is very urgent.”

“Iguess you can wait there, sir,” replied the porter. “You’ll find last evening’s paper on the desk.”

“Thank you,” replied Carlos.

He passed through the store, and walked up a flight of steps to an elevated portion in the rear end. Here he opened a door, and entered a small, elegantly furnished apartment, which was the private sanctum of Mr.Duncan, the senior partner of the firm.

Abrief retrospect is here necessary. Carlos had arrived from Europe but three days before the visit of himself and Leonard to Dalton. He had immediately called on his cousin, to whom he announced the death of his father, and confided the errand on which he was bent. Leonard had introduced him to Mr.Duncan, who had invited the cousins to his house.

For Leonard, in his capacity of foreign agent for the firm, enjoyed not only the business confidence of, but the warm personal friendship of his employers, and Mr.Duncan, being of a genial, social nature, delighted in nothing more than extending the hospitality of his house to his friends.

Mr.Mishler, the junior partner, was perhaps equally pleasant and sociable in his way, but he was unmarried, exceedingly industrious, and was constantly occupied with certain details of the business that were intrusted to his special supervision. Carlos had only met him once or twice casually.

Consequently he waited in Mr.Duncan’s private office, feeling that that gentleman was the only acquaintance in the great city to whom he could go in the present trouble. Indeed, there was no one else to whom he would feel at liberty to apply for any service whatever.

He patiently awaited Mr.Duncan’s appearance, glancing over the newspaper to which the porter had made reference, but taking no heed of the words over which his eyes wandered.

Promptly at nine o’clock Mr.Duncan arrived. He seemed surprised to find Carlos sitting there, but after an instant’s hesitation recognized him, and with a cordial exclamation advanced toward him with extended hand.

Carlos sprang past him and closed the door, and then turned and took the proffered hand.

“Ibeg your pardon,” he began, and then stopped.

“How do you do! How do you do!” exclaimed Mr.Duncan.

His words and voice were cordial, though he looked sharply at Carlos, as if puzzled at his demeanor. He was a tall, portly man, with a ruddy, though fair complexion, and a clear, pleasant eye. His face was smooth, with the exception of gray side-whiskers, and he had a high, noble forehead. He stood looking at Carlos, inquiringly, and the latter began to speak hurriedly and rather incoherently.

“Iam in great trouble,” he said, “and Ihave come to you. Iscarcely know why. Ithought that you might not believe—that is, that you would be willing to listen—at all events that you would shield me for a few hours, and not pronounce judgment too hastily.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mr.Duncan, in astonishment.

“Mr. Duncan,” said Carlos, suddenly stepping back a pace, and speaking slowly and distinctly, “are you aware that you have just shaken hands with one who is under accusation of murder?”

“Good heavens, no! Iam not aware of that. Please explain yourself.”

“You won’t turn me off and deliver me into the hands of the officers?”

“Idon’t understand you. No, of course Iwon’t do anything of that kind. You are a friend of Leonard Lester, and his friends are my friends. Come, sit down here.”

Mr.Duncan took a chair, and Carlos sat in another near him.

“Yes, Iwill tell you all. But, first, are we in danger of interruption?”

“None whatever. But wait.”

He stepped to the door and locked it, and returned to his seat again.

“There. Now out with your story. Isee you are in trouble. Let me hear what it is.”

Thus commanded, Carlos gave a faithful account of the terrible experience he had passed through since the Monday on which he and Leonard had set their feet in Dalton. He omitted no important particular, and concluded by relating the unexpected means of escape that had been offered him, and his night journey to New York.

Mr.Duncan evinced considerable excitement during the recital. He rose, stared at the narrator, uttered an exclamation or two, and finally sat down, planted his hands on his knees, and drank in every word.

“Well, upon my soul, this is marvelous!” he exclaimed, vehemently, on the conclusion of the narrative. “Inever heard the like.”

Carlos sat in silence. He had finished his tale, and his first anxiety was to know the reception it would meet with.

He waited to hear what Mr.Duncan would have to say after his wonderment had found vent. But that gentleman, although excitable when his surprise or sympathy was aroused, said nothing at all for some moments.