He groped his way into the darkness, fumbled a moment at a closed window, and flung the shutters wide open. The cold wintry air blew in our faces, and the rays of the sinking sun brightened every nook and corner. It was a good-sized room, and on three sides of it—except where a space was left for the window—trunks and boxes were neatly stacked to the ceiling. Dust and cobwebs lent a disreputable and ruinous effect to them.
“All unclaimed,” Macdonald said significantly, “and none of recent date.”
For a moment the four of us stood in silence, as though under the influence of a strange spell. It was indeed an impressive and a thoughtful sight, this array of boxes and trunks, chests and cases, of all sizes and all kinds. Could these mute witnesses only have spoken! As we stared at them we wondered what had been the fate of their owners—of the daring men, young and old, who had gone forth years ago into the untrodden wilderness and never been heard of since.
“Where is his trunk?” demanded Christopher Burley, breaking the spell. “Show it to me! I don’t believe it is here!”
“We shall find it presently, I assure you,” the factor answered.
With that we fell to searching, two of us at one side of the room and two at the other. Its proper number was painted in white on each box or trunk, but as the numbers were not in order, and some of them were partly obscured by dust, we were not successful at once. When we came to the stack at the end of the room, however, Flora’s sharp eyes quickly discovered what we were seeking.
“There it is!” she cried, “Number 409!”
Yes, there it was—the fateful characters staring us in the face from the end of a small black trunk, next but one to the top of the heap, I felt a pang of disappointment, I had half-hoped that this mysterious Osmund Maiden had returned to claim his property, and that by an oversight the black line had not been drawn through his name. But here was evidence that strongly suggested his death in the wilderness.
“Get it down,” Christopher Burley said hoarsely. “Let me see it!”
Macdonald assented half-reluctantly. I helped him to drag the trunk from the one resting on top of it, and we placed it on the floor. It was a small affair and it seemed very light. It was low and narrow, brass-bound, and covered with decaying leather. In addition to being locked it was wrapped about with rope.