But the very next moment he turned back instinctively to the door and
attempted to push it open. The latch was gone; he had broken it himself.
But the door was now locked against him.

Of course, this circumstance greatly increased the desire he had for one
more interview, however short, with Carrie. He wanted to understand her
position. Too much interested in the girl to wish to doubt her, grateful
to her for contriving his escape, Max yet found it difficult to
reconcile her actions with the honesty her words had caused him to
believe in.

However, finding that the door was inexorably closed upon him, he saw
that there was nothing for it but to take himself off into safer if less
interesting regions as quickly as possible. So he got out on the wharf,
through and over the timber, and was on the point of crossing to the
door in the fence, when he saw a man come quickly through, lock the door
behind him and make his way through the piles of timber with the easy,
stealthy step of a man accustomed to do this sort of thing, and to do it
at night.

Before the man got near him, Max, who had stepped back a little under
the wall of one of the outhouses, was sure that the newcomer was of
doubtful character. When the latter got out into the light thrown by the
street-lamp outside the wharf, this impression was confirmed.

A little man, young, of slight and active build, with a fair mustache,
blue eyes and curly, light hair, he was undoubtedly good-looking,
although there was something mean and sinister about the expression of
his face. Max could scarcely see all these details; but, as it was, he