The first thing I noticed after entering and locking the door behind me was the copy of "Our Rival, the Rascal," that had been stolen from the Quarantine Station. It lay on a table and I took it up with interest. On the fly leaf was written Eggert's name and address, proving conclusively that it was the one I supposed. The baggage in the room consisted of a steamer trunk and a "dress-suit case," both of which were locked. A moment later I had tried both locks with keys from my pocket and found—to my joy—that the one on the trunk yielded to the pressure.
I felt awfully uncomfortable, to tell the truth, as I lifted the lid of that trunk. I glanced at the door, wondering if some prying eye might be at the key-hole. Getting a towel from the rack I covered the aperture. The blinds at the window were shut, so there was no other place from which I could be observed, if I except the high heaven above, and the rectitude of my purpose justified me there, in my belief.
Carefully I lifted the articles in the receptacle, one by one. They were the ordinary things to be expected in the possession of a gentleman travelling. I had nearly relinquished my search when a little packet wrapped in brown paper, attracted my notice. Taking it up I pinched it carefully for an instant, and then, becoming excited, untied the string.
How my heart did beat! For there lay before my eyes the bracelet stolen from Miss Howes, the earrings that Miss May had worn and the stud purloined from my bag! Everything, in short, that we had lost, except the little turquoise ring.
I put that package in my pocket, shut and locked the trunk, and was preparing to quit the room when I heard a turn at the handle of the door. Who could be there, at that time of day? Was it possible Wesson had given up his drive? or had the chambermaid returned with some article needed? The fumbling continued for another minute and then a distinct, though rather low knock followed. I call it low, for subsequent judgment so deems it, but at the time it was as loud to my ears as a pistol shot. Still I kept quiet, for there was nothing to be gained by jumping from the frying pan into the fire. If it was Wesson I fancied I had a card to play that would prevent his putting me to much trouble. If it was any one else they would certainly leave when they received no answer to their summons.
The person outside renewed the knock two or three times and then moved slowly away. As soon as the noise of his steps ceased I opened the door cautiously and stepped out. It took several seconds before I could remove the key from the inside and put it in the aperture toward the hall. Before I could turn it, I was more than disgusted to see a face peering around the nearest corner and taking in the whole proceeding. It was the face of Robert Edgerly!
"Well, well!" he said, coming toward me and leering in an exasperating way. "I took the liberty of calling you a cur the last time we met, but I didn't think—"
He stopped and laughed provokingly.
"It makes very little difference what you think," I retorted, white with anger. "I can explain this to the only person interested, whenever he chooses to inquire. As he seems to be a friend of yours, you may tell him so, if you see him first, with my compliments."
He strode toward me threateningly, his right hand wandering toward his hip pocket.