Robert and Tayoga were assigned to a room on the second floor, and young Lennox again noted the numerous evidences of opulence.  The furniture was mostly of carved mahogany, and every room contained articles of value from distant lands.

“Tayoga,” said Robert, “what do you think of it all?”

“I think that the man Hardy is shrewd, Dagaeoga, shrewd like one of our sachems, and that he has an interest in you, greater than he would let you see.  Do you remember him, Lennox?”

“No, I can’t recall him, Tayoga.  I’ve heard Dave speak of him many times, but whenever we were in New York before he was away, and we did not even come to his house.  But he and Dave are friends of many years.  I think that long ago they must have been much together.”

“Truly there is some mystery here, but it can wait.  In its proper time the unknown becomes the known.”

“So it does, Tayoga, and I shall not vex my mind about the matter.  Just now, what I wish most of all is sleep.”

“I wish it too, Lennox.”

But Robert did not sleep well, his nerves being attuned more highly than he had realized.  Some of the talk that had passed between Willet and Hardy related obviously to himself, and in the quiet of the room it came back to him.  He had not slept more than an hour when he awoke, and, being unable to go to sleep again, sat up in bed.  Tayoga was deep in slumber, and Robert finally left the bed and went to the window, the shutter of which was not closed.  It was a curious, round window, like a huge porthole, but the glass was clear and he had a good view of the street.  He saw one or two sailors swaying rather more than the customary motion of a ship, pass by, and then a watchman carrying a club in one hand and a lantern in the other, and blowing his frosty breath upon his thick brown beard, indicating that the night although bright was very cold.

He looked through the glass at least a half hour, and then turned back to the bed, but found himself less inclined than ever to sleep.  Throwing his coat over his shoulders, he opened the unlocked door and went into the hall, intending to walk back and forth a little, believing that the easy exercise would induce desire for sleep.

He was surprised to find a thread of light in the dusk of the hall, at a time when he was quite sure everybody in the house except himself was buried in slumber, and when he traced it he found it came from another room farther down.  It was, upon the instant, his belief that robbers had entered.  In a port like New York, where all nations come, there must be reckless and desperate men who would hesitate at no risk or crime.

He moved cautiously along the hall, until he reached the door from which the light shone.  It was open about six inches, not allowing a look into the room except at the imminent risk of discovery, but by placing his ear at the sill he would be able to hear the footsteps of men if they were moving within.  The sound of voices instead came to him, and as he listened he was able to note that it was two men talking in low tones.  Undoubtedly they were robbers, who were common in all great towns in those days, and this must be a chamber in which Master Hardy kept many valuables.  Doubtless they were assured that everybody was deep in slumber, or they would be more cautious.