At the side of the door we halted a moment, and I saw Oakes give the German a twenty-dollar bill.

"Remember," he said, "not a word."

We caught our train after a long drive to the east, and back over the Harlem River. When we seated ourselves in the sleeper, Oakes turned to me quietly. "Please remember, Stone, that you are a possible buyer, and that I am Charles Clark, agent for the owner of the Mark Mansion. We have had a pleasant evening together so far, have we not?"

He smiled in his quiet, unruffled manner as he spoke.

"Yes—rather active," I said. "I presume those other fellows are thinking so too, probably."

"Only the last two," said Oakes; "my men are home by this time."

Shortly after midnight we arrived at the station at the foot of the hill which hid the beautiful town of Mona.

"Keep your senses alert," said Oakes as we left the train, "for we are now in the region of uncertainty. We had better not walk to the hotel, [Pg 49] although it is only about a mile. The hour is too late."

[Pg 49]

The solitary hackman, seeing us approach, roused himself from his sleepy lethargy and soon we were slowly ascending the hill. The well-kept road was lighted here and there by electricity, an agreeable witness to the civilization around us.

I saw Oakes place his weapon in his outside overcoat pocket—as he said, the most convenient place for it to rest, clad as we were.

The action was a vivid reminder of the experiences of his last visit, and of the caution of the man.

Without further adventure of any kind we arrived at the little hotel, with its sleepy night clerk and its gloomy office. This opened right on the sidewalk by means of a large wooden door, hung a low step above the pavement, and fitting so poorly in its frame that the rays of the light from within sought exit beneath it.

[Pg 50]

[Pg 50]

CHAPTER V

The Letter

 Prev. P 22/152 next