"Don't," said he. "We'll leave that for our expected visitor."
"Surely," protested the excited Pendleton, "you don't propose to leave
the thing there! Think of the risk! You might lose it in the end; for,
you know, one never foresees what is to turn up."
"A fisherman must always risk losing his lure," answered the
investigator composedly.
They spent the long hours of the day in smoking and talking; and at
intervals they ate the sandwiches and other things which had been
smuggled in in the guise of packages of furs. And finally the shadows
gathered and thickened once again in Christie Place.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE SECOND NIGHT
The second night of the vigil in Hume's rooms wore on. Unlike the
preceding one, the two young men were almost entirely silent; when
they did speak, it was in tones so low as to be scarcely above a
whisper.
There was a taut, indefinable something in the air that kept the
desire for sleep from both; in the brooding darkness they were alert,
watchful, expectant. The tobacco-loving Pendleton afterwards recalled
with surprise that not once did he think of the weed. But when the
queer, mysterious night sounds began to come--those creakings of loose
planks, strainings of unseen timbers and untraceable snappings in the
walls, that are common in old houses--he frequently thought of the
automatic revolver; and the chill of the polished metal always felt
comforting enough.
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