bor chance to be awake at half-past three in the morning.
The sedan had never been seen by anyone in his possession before. He had bought it only a few days ago, a big, old-fashioned, fourth-hand thing, for just this occasion. He had bought it principally because of its trunk arrangement: on a sturdy rack at the rear was a stout metal oblong for luggage which could be removed from the car.
The new cars had the rear trunk incorporated into the body, which would not have done at all.
The trunk was black-enameled and very strong. George Opper had further strengthened it by putting on it a heavy, case-hardened lock to replace the sturdy but lighter one that had originally secured the lid.
The twin suitcases were out of the trunk. Its emptiness yawned at him as he lifted the strong lid. Sweating, shivering, he forced the bundle he carried into the trunk. It was a devilish job, but when he had finished there was an amazing amount of space left. The difficulty had arisen only from the unwieldiness of the bundle, not so much from its size.
He went back to the living-room, snapping the lights on as he closed the door. He thought he would go mad if he saw the cat again. But the cat was not there, and he went on with his work.
He unrolled the rugs and put them back in place, after first making sure no stains were on the bare floor. He put the various articles of furniture back where they belonged. Then, in a sudden revulsion of feeling, he dropped into the easy-chair.
He shook all over. Perspiration poured from him in a weak, icy flood. His teeth chattered. He was on the verge of fainting away, like a nervous girl.
He swore at himself. What in thunder was the matter with him? It was all done. He had not been tripped up in any way, and he would continue to go undetected. The first, and infinitely the hardest, part of his job was done. Now all he had to do was get away before the sky began to lighten and the newspaper delivery boys and the milk-men stirred.
But for fully five minutes he cowered in the chair before he finally got up and staggered to the side door. He turned out the lights, waited an instant, and opened the door. He stood there in darkness, a dim figure.
From the darkness of the room behind him came a sound that for an instant almost stopped his heart.
A faint, quavering whimper.
God! That was the way Martia had whimpered as he stared at her with the gun in his hand and death in his eyes. She had stood in the doorway, paralyzed with horror, while from her blanched lips came the whimpering sound. . . .
But after a few seconds the terror passed. The cat! After almost driving him mad while he moved about the living-room, the fiendish thing was now prowling the dark, mewing a little for its mistress.
Now that his fear had subsided, Opper was glad the incident had occurred. He had almost slipped here. Imagine locking the house with that cat in it as a mute witness that someone had been in this place at a time when no one was supposed to have entered it! The animal was supposed to be out in the garage, where a half-opened window afforded it entrance and exit, and where food was spread to last it the few days
