He was so deeply engrossed in these thoughts, the smoked-out cigar
substituted by a pipe, that he remained unaware that Timmons had left
the office, or that the Chinese man-of-all-work had silently tiptoed
down the stairs and was cautiously peering in through the open doorway
to make sure the coast was clear. Assured as to this, the wily
Oriental sidled noiselessly across the floor and paused beside him.

"Zis Meester Vest-c-ott?" he asked softly.

The miner looked up at the implacable face in surprise, lowering his
feet.

"That's my name, John; what is it?"

The messenger shook a folded paper out of his sleeve, thrust it into
the other's hand hastily, and, with a hurried glance about, started to
glide away as silently as he had come. Westcott stared at the note,
which was unaddressed.

"Sure this is for me, John?"

"Ally same sure--for Meester Vest-c-ott."

He vanished into the dark hall, and there was the faint clatter of his
shoes on the stairs.

Westcott, fully aroused, cast his glance about the deserted room, and
unfolded the paper which had been left in his fingers. His eyes took
in the few penciled words instantly.