Rain-soaked, muddy, bedraggled, it was not the debonnaire Chicagoan of old who skulked away from the cab at a certain black corner and made his way stealthily, even fearfully, toward the distant dock.
Every sound startled and alarmed him; every pedestrian looked like a pursuer in plain clothes or blue.

A couple of policemen eyed him sharply and he trembled in his boots.

The sudden, overpowering recollection that he had the passage tickets in his pockets with the reservations and the luggage checks almost sent him flying through the air, so swift was his pace.

He lost his way twice, but was set straight by unsuspecting bluecoats.
At last he zigzagged his way through devious channels and into the presence of a company's official, who informed him that Miss Ridge had not gone aboard nor had she presented herself at the dock during the evening.

Hugh's jaw dropped and a sick, damp perspiration started on his forehead.