And now came three or four days of rest and quiet after the merry life I had been leading since my arrival in San Francisco.
No word did I get from Doddridge Knapp. I kept close watch of the stock market, and gossiped with speculators and brokers, for I wished to know at once if he had employed another agent. My work would lie in another direction if such should prove to be the case. But there was no movement in Omega, and I could hear no hint of another deal that might show a trace of his dexterous hand. “Quiet trading,” was the report from all quarters.
“Fact is,” said Wallbridge on the fourth day, trying to look doleful, “I haven't made enough this week to pay for the gas—and I don't burn any.”
In the interval I improved my time by getting better acquainted with the city. Emboldened by my body-guard, I slept for two nights in Henry's room, and with one to watch outside the door, one lying on a mattress just inside, and a new lock and bolt, I was free from disturbance.
Just as I had formed a wild idea of looking up Doddridge Knapp in his home, I came to the office in the morning to find the door into Room 16 wide open and the farther door ajar.
“Come in, Wilton,” said the voice of the King of the Street; and I entered his room to find him busied over his papers, as though nothing had occurred since I had last met him.
“The market has had something of a vacation.” I ventured, as he failed to speak.
“I have been out of town,” he said shortly. “What have you done?”
“Nothing.”
He gave a grunt of assent.