“I was plunged in thought,” he said, “and your knock startled me. Will you come in?”
“A minute, if you don’t mind. Have you any matches? I have none in my room. I rang the bell, but nobody came.”
“Yes, there are some. Help yourself.”
Gates, not suspecting how unwelcome his visit was, sat down and lighted a cigar.
“Is smoking offensive to you?” he asked.
“Well, yes, in a bedroom.”
“Out it goes then. I suppose you were thinking of the fortunes we are going to make.”
“Perhaps so,” said Morton, who didn’t care to divulge his real thoughts.
“By the way,” said Gates, “I hope your bed is better than mine. Mine is as hard as a brick.”
As he spoke he reached out his hand and touched the quilt, directly over the spot where the papers were concealed.