Enveloped in a rain-coat, and with a soft hat drawn well over his eyes,
he compassed the escape from the upper floor by means of the remote
stair he had used in ascending, and so reached the ground-floor.
Fortunately, the lobby was crowded; and turning up the collar of the
rain-coat to hide the bandage, Blount worked his way toward the
revolving doors. More than once in the dodging progress he rubbed
shoulders with men whom he knew, and who knew him; but the shielding
hat-brim and the muffling rain-coat saved him.
Reaching the street, he did not attempt to walk to the Temple Court.
Instead, he crept around to a garage near the hotel and hired a
two-seated road-car. Quite naturally, the garage-keeper wanted to send
his own driver, and Blount counted it as an unavoidable misfortune that
he was obliged to give his name, and to hear the motor-liveryman say:
"Oh, sure! I didn't recognize you, Mr. Blount. I reckon Senator Dave's
son can have anything o' mine that he wants."
Blount drove the road-car all the way around the Capitol grounds to come
into his office street inconspicuously. Across from the Temple Court the
fire ruins were still smouldering, and there was an acrid odor of stale
smoke in the air. For a full third of the block the street was littered
with debris. Blount stopped his machine at the nearest corner and got
out to reconnoitre the office-building entrance.
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