"Very probably," said Anthony Cardew. And he repeated, thoughtfully,
"Very probably."

He did not hear Elinor when she quietly pushed back her chair and
said "good-night." He was sitting at the table, tapping on the
cloth with finger-tips that were slightly cold. That evening
Anthony Cardew had a visit from the police, and considerable fiery
talk took place in his library. As a result there was a shake-up
in city politics, and a change in the penitentiary management, for
Anthony Cardew had a heavy hand and a bitter memory. And a little
cloud on his horizon grew and finally settled down over his life,
turning it gray. Jim Doyle was among those who had escaped. For
three months Anthony was followed wherever he went by detectives,
and his house was watched at night. But he was a brave man, and
the espionage grew hateful. Besides, each day added to his sense
of security. There came a time when he impatiently dismissed the
police, and took up life again as before.

Then one day he received a note, in a plain white envelope. It
said: "There are worse things than death." And it was signed:
"J. Doyle."

Doyle was not recaptured. Anthony had iron gratings put on the
lower windows of his house after that, and he hired a special
watchman. But nothing happened, and at last he began to forget.
He was building the new furnaces up the river by that time. The
era of structural steel for tall buildings was beginning, and he
bought the rights of a process for making cement out of his furnace
slag. He was achieving great wealth, although he did not change
his scale of living.