“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.

The clocks announced the ends of the hours according to their temperaments; coming in the midst of the total silence, the din seemed to Pendleton to be terrific; he pictured appalled criminals on their way through the dark halls, crouching in fear at the sounds.  Eleven o’clock struck, and then twelve with its continued uproar.  It seemed a long time before one and then two sounded.  Pendleton’s limbs were beginning to feel loggy and numb because of the chill and the continued inaction.  He had ventured to stir them a little, and was wrapping the heavy blanket more closely about himself, when he felt Ashton-Kirk’s hand upon his shoulder.

“Hush-h-h!” said the investigator in a whisper.

Instantly Pendleton was motionless; he listened intently, but the silence of the place seemed complete.

“What is it?” he finally ventured to breathe.

The hand upon his shoulder tightened warningly; but there came no other reply.  Again Pendleton listened.  The door of the showroom stood open; Ashton-Kirk had placed it so in order that they might catch any sound that came from the hall.  All the other doors leading into the hall from Hume’s apartments were securely locked; anyone who ventured into the suite must first pass through the showroom where the two waited and watched.