Читать книгу A Son of Ishmael. A Novel онлайн

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“I forgot to tell you, sir, that the boxes will be here to-morrow night.”

“Who told you that?”

“Scrivener; I had a cipher from him by the last post.”

“All right,” said Rowton, “take them in when they come.”

“Between one and two to-morrow night,” repeated Samson; “there is no moon and we can easily get them carted off from the station without anyone noticing. Scrivener will come with them.”

“All right,” said Rowton again. “What are you waiting for? To-morrow night is not to-night, and I am dog-tired and want to get to bed.”

“There is no room in the cellar unless we move the boxes which are there already,” continued Samson. “We cannot go down there with lights in the daytime, and I can’t do the job by myself.”

“You dog! I shan’t help you to move a box to-night; get off to bed and leave me alone.”

Samson withdrew, muttering angrily as he did so.

When he left the room, Rowton rose from his chair by the fire, walked across the apartment and locked the door. Then stepping up to the uncarpeted portion of the room, he touched a secret spring, which immediately revealed a trap-door. There was a ladder beneath the door which led down into a cellar. Rowton gazed gloomily down for a moment.