"You don't seem very polite, not answering a civil question when you're asked one."
Mr. Paxton only smiled.
"Good-night."
He could hear the stranger grumbling to himself, even after the door was closed. He asked the porter in the hall casually who the man might be.
"I don't know, sir. He came in just after you. I don't think I have ever seen him before. He has taken a bed for the night."
Mr. Paxton went up the stairs, smiling to himself as he went.
"They are hot on the scent. Mr. Lawrence evidently has no intention of allowing the grass to grow under his feet. He means, if the thing is possible, to have a sight of that Gladstone bag, at any rate by deputy. I may be wrong, but the deputy whom I fancy he has selected is an individual possessed of such a small amount of tact--whatever other virtues he may have--that I hardly think I am. In any case it is probably just as well that that Gladstone bag sleeps downstairs, while I sleep up."
The door of Mr. Paxton's bedroom was furnished with a bolt as well as a lock. He carefully secured both.
"I don't think that any one will be able to get through that door without arousing me. And even should any enterprising person succeed in doing so, I fear that his success will go no farther. His labours will be unrewarded."
Mr. Paxton was master of a great art--the art of being able to go to sleep when he wished. Practically, in bed or out of it, whenever he chose, he could treat himself to the luxury of a slumber; and also, when he chose, he could wake out of it. This very desirable accomplishment did not fail him then. As soon as he was between the sheets he composed himself to rest; and in an infinitesimally short space of time rest came to him. He slept as peacefully as if he had not had a care upon his mind.