Or was it merely the fanciful echo of an idea that only at that moment sprung up in his mind?
If it was real it came from the street parallel with the one he was in.

Who could be driving out at this time?
What other buggy than his own could be found to desecrate this Christian Sabbath?
An irresistible thought impelled him at the risk of recognition to quicken his pace and turn the corner as Richard Demorest drove up to the Independence Hotel, sprang from his buggy, throwing the reins over the dashboard, and disappeared into the hotel! Blandford stood still, but for an instant only.

He had been wandering for an hour aimlessly, hopelessly, without consecutive idea, coherent thought or plan of action; without the faintest inspiration or suggestion of escape from his bewildering torment, without--he had begun to fear--even the power to conceive or the will to execute; when a wild idea flashed upon him with the rattle of his buggy wheels.

And even as Demorest disappeared into the hotel, he had conceived his plan and executed it.

He crossed the street swiftly, leaped into his buggy, lifted the reins and brought down the whip simultaneously, and the next instant was dashing down the street in the direction of the Warensboro turnpike.