He was by no means imaginative in the ordinary way. His nerves were like highly tempered steel. He had no fear of any sort either physical or superstitious. He had no thought of any ghostly presence. But he knew instinctively that someone belonging to that place was moving through it with him, but along ways, and possibly hidden passages, which he had been unable to discover.
His automatic pistol was fully loaded, and, from the first moment of his vigil, he had been reasonably prepared for any eventuality, but he knew, his hard common sense told him, that if his belief was justified there was not one single instant as he plodded his way through apartment after apartment, or even while sitting in the chair at the desk with his back turned on the rest of the great hall, that he was not at the complete mercy of those who were observing his movements.
Now he prepared for the last act of his search. That completed he would carry out the rest of his simple programme. Yes, he must search the desk, and the book shelves above it. Then he would betake himself to the great bedroom upstairs and occupy the bed which he knew had recently been occupied by others. A grim smile hovered for a moment in his steady eyes as he thought of the outrage this taking of the bed of another constituted in his understanding of the decencies of life. Maybe it would— He dismissed the thought from his mind, and, reaching out, lowered the flap front of the desk.
But he did not commence the search of the array of drawers and pigeon-holes laden with documents with which the interior was furnished. Instead, he sat back in the capacious chair regarding the rich inlay of mother-of-pearl, and the exquisite carving which was revealed. The beauty of the workmanship of the desk made only a passing impression. It was not admiration that left him idly contemplating the thing before him. It was something else. Something all unexpected and uncalculated. Quite suddenly a wave of reluctance, that was closely akin to sheer repugnance, had taken hold of him, and denied him the completion of the work he had set his hand to. For the life of him he could not pry into the private papers of his unknown host. Japanese, or any other, it made no difference. That sort of thing was sheer police work, and, for all he had been sworn a special constable for the occasion by his friend, George Raymes, the police spirit had not yet fully taken possession of his civilian feelings. No. He shut the desk up with something of the rough force which his self-disgust inspired. He shot back the supporting arms into their sockets, and turned his chair about in a manner which displayed his irrevocable decision.
So he sat back, and drew his pipe from his pocket and filled it contemplatively. His eyes were half smiling, and his expression was wholly ironical for what he regarded as his own contemptible weakness.
He lit his pipe and gazed about him over the apartment. It was well past midnight now, and the broad light of day lit the place with a soft evenness that was something monotonous. And, smoking, he permitted his thoughts to pursue the trend which his position inspired.
Strangely enough they left him without a shadow of concern for himself, and only sought to unravel the mystery with which he knew he was surrounded.
He was in the heart of the hills whence the Euralians were reputed to hail from. He had discovered a miniature palace, not a rough shanty, and it was furnished with the taste, and for the abode of someone of unquestionably Japanese origin. A certainty existed in his mind that the owner of it all was somewhere present in the house and in hiding. Why? The territory was Alaskan. It had nothing to do with Canada, where he had come from. Why, then, should the owner fear to show himself? What object could he have in remaining hidden? He found several possible answers, but none seemed to furnish an adequate solution. The whole thing was an enigma that completely defeated him. But he meant to solve it even if he was forced to remain a month in the place. The only certainty he felt, and that for the reason of his belief that the owner was watching him possibly at that very moment, was that his invisible host possessed none of the hostility which the Euralians on Loon Creek had displayed. Had it been otherwise, surely, long since, he would have discovered it in a definite attack whilst engaged on his work of unjustifiable intrusion and search.
However, it was all useless speculation. There was nothing further to be gained by it. Possibly the bureau behind him might have told him something. But there it was. A man’s private papers were sacred. And he could not outrage such sense of honour as the traffic of gold had left to him. No. He would go to the bed he had selected and—see what happened.
He stood up and knocked out his pipe on the stone-built fireplace and moved quickly, but without attempting to conceal his movements, from the room.