George was opening the door. He glanced in. His brother stood at a
sideboard, in one hand a decanter, in the other hand, bottom up and to his
lips, a whisky glass.

Across the glass Al saw that he was observed. It threw him into a panic.
Hastily he tried to refill the glass and get it to his lips; but glass and
decanter were sent smashing to the floor. He snarled. It was like the
sound of a wild beast. But the grip on his shoulder subdued and frightened
him. He was being propelled toward the door.

"The suit case," he gasped. "It's there in that room. Let me get it."

"Where's the key?" his brother asked, when he had brought it.

"It isn't locked."

The next moment the suit case was spread open, and George's hand was
searching the contents. From one side it brought out a bottle of whisky,
from the other side a flask. He snapped the case to.

"Come on," he said. "If we miss one car, we miss that train."

He went out into the hallway, leaving Al with his wife. It was like a
funeral, George thought, as he waited.

His brother's overcoat caught on the knob of the front door and delayed its
closing long enough for Mary's first sob to come to their ears. George's
lips were very thin and compressed as he went down the steps. In one hand
he carried the suit case. With the other hand he held his brother's arm.