It was that of a rough office with a cot in
one corner as though occasionally utilised for a sleeping room, the
other furniture consisting of a small desk with roll-top, an unpainted
table, and a few chairs. In one corner stood a rusty-looking safe, the
door open, and a fat-bellied wood-stove occupied the centre of the
floor.
There were three men in the room, and Westcott drew a quick breath of
surprise as he recognised the two faces fronting him--Bill Lacy at the
desk, a pipe in his mouth, his feet elevated on a convenient chair, and
Beaton, leaning back against the wall, apparently half asleep with his
eyes closed. The third man was facing Lacy, but concealed by the
stove; he seemed to be doing the talking, and held a paper in his hand
resembling a map. Suddenly he arose to his feet, and bent over the
edge of the desk, and Westcott knew him--Enright!
The man spoke earnestly, evidently arguing a point with emphasis, but
the sound of his voice failed to penetrate to the ears of the listener
without. Desperately determined to learn what was being said, the
miner thrust the heavy blade of his jack-knife beneath the ill-fitting
window sash, and succeeded in noiselessly lifting it a scant half inch.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151