My cigar went out, the fire had “followed suit,” I looked at my watch with some impatience, and it showed the “wee sma’ hours” had come. I was perplexed, paced the floor, and looking out into the street, I saw how the gusts of wind drove the snow and sleet along with the fury of a demon. I shuddered as I paced the floor, but how could I unravel the mystery, the mystery that perplexed me?
“Back into my chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,” I said again, “Where is the key?” for Leo Bergin had talent and ambition, and while he seemed erratic, he was no visionary dreamer. While Leo Bergin lacked a sense of proportion, even in his foibles he was practical, and had at least one eye on the main chance.
“No,” said I, “Leo Bergin was no dreamer,” he had no fads, no superstitions, and little imagination, and he was a true Bohemian. He had a “nose for news,” a genius for work, and a love for adventure that all the fiends in and out of Hades could not thwart.
But how could I unravel the mystery? Where the de’il had he been for two long years? Who was Symmes? And if Symmes had a hole, where was it?
Here I paused—an idea struck me. “I am a fool,” said I—but I would rave should any one less informed regarding my weakness say so. Ah! I have it. Here it is, for he said, on our parting, as he handed it to me, “It is a record of every day’s doings and events.” Yes, and he said, on our parting at Lisbon, “I made my new acquaintance, and laid my plans for future action yesterday. I have begun my work, and I shall keep a truthful record of every day’s doings and events, and on my return I will place it at your disposal.”
“Plain enough, it is all there, and to-morrow I shall begin,” said I, “to unravel this mysterious story.”