He jumped into the nearest cab standing by.
“To Ogden Place,” he said sharply.
“I’ll give you a dollar more if you make good time.”
The cabby beat his horse into a sort of imitation gallop which was fairly fast, however.
On the way Hurstwood thought what to do.
Reaching the number, he hurried up the steps and did not spare the bell in waking the servant.
“Is Mrs. Drouet in?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the astonished girl.
“Tell her to dress and come to the door at once.
Her husband is in the hospital, injured, and wants to see her.”
The servant girl hurried upstairs, convinced by the man’s strained and emphatic manner.
“What!” said Carrie, lighting the gas and searching for her clothes.
“Mr. Drouet is hurt and in the hospital. He wants to see you.
The cab’s downstairs.”
Carrie dressed very rapidly, and soon appeared below, forgetting everything save the necessities.
“Drouet is hurt,” said Hurstwood quickly.
“He wants to see you.
Come quickly.”
Carrie was so bewildered that she swallowed the whole story.
“Get in,” said Hurstwood, helping her and jumping after.
The cabby began to turn the horse around.
“Michigan Central depot,” he said, standing up and speaking so low that Carrie could not hear, “as fast as you can go.”
Chapter XXVIII
A Pilgrim, an Outlaw — The Spirit Detained
The cab had not travelled a short block before Carrie, settling herself and thoroughly waking in the night atmosphere, asked:
“What’s the matter with him?
Is he hurt badly?”
“It isn’t anything very serious,” Hurstwood said solemnly.
He was very much disturbed over his own situation, and now that he had Carrie with him, he only wanted to get safely out of reach of the law.
Therefore he was in no mood for anything save such words as would further his plans distinctly.
Carrie did not forget that there was something to be settled between her and Hurstwood, but the thought was ignored in her agitation.
The one thing was to finish this strange pilgrimage.
“Where is he?”
“Way out on the South Side,” said Hurstwood.
“We’ll have to take the train.
It’s the quickest way.”
Carrie said nothing, and the horse gambolled on.
The weirdness of the city by night held her attention.
She looked at the long receding rows of lamps and studied the dark, silent houses.
“How did he hurt himself?” she asked — meaning what was the nature of his injuries.
Hurstwood understood.
He hated to lie any more than necessary, and yet he wanted no protests until he was out of danger.
“I don’t know exactly,” he said.
“They just called me up to go and get you and bring you out.
They said there wasn’t any need for alarm, but that I shouldn’t fail to bring you.”
The man’s serious manner convinced Carrie, and she became silent, wondering.
Hurstwood examined his watch and urged the man to hurry.
For one in so delicate a position he was exceedingly cool.
He could only think of how needful it was to make the train and get quietly away.
Carrie seemed quite tractable, and he congratulated himself.