"Nothing whatever," rejoined the thief-taker, coldly. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. They became aware of the waitress standing over them with book and pencil ready for their bill. Here again the clothes were minus the labels. She remembered possessing it during the Gold Rush. They flash to and fro, they thrill us with expectancy.
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