After the first few hundred yards down the tracks it was not difficult to guess the tunnel mucker’s destination. He was heading across the basin to the mining-camp at the foot of Gold Hill. Plegg did not try to keep him in sight after his direction was assured, contenting himself with closing the gap when the man ahead was entering the single street of the town. Even then the pursuer made no haste and paid no special attention to the lop-shouldered one. It was as if he had known in advance where his quarry would alight, and when the dodging figure was lost finally among the late roisterers still obstructing the planked sidewalks, Plegg pushed on steadily until he reached the corner occupied by Black Jack Dargin’s gambling resort. At the corner, the first assistant changed his tactics suddenly. Flattening himself against the side of the building he edged his way cautiously down the short side street. Being the headquarters of a leading industry, Dargin’s “place” enjoyed the distinction of standing as the only two-storied building in the camp. With its ground floor devoted strictly to the business of relieving restless or thirsty souls of the hard-earned dollars, the second floor was the living apartment of the master gambler. It was approached by an outside stair, and up this stair Plegg crept on his toes and finger-ends. The door at the stair-head was closed, but the first assistant seemed to know his ground. Noiselessly a skeleton key was slipped into the lock, there was a faint click, and the door swung inward, opening into a dark hall running crosswise of the building. Again Plegg showed his familiarity with his surroundings. Closing the door, and thus shutting himself into the Egyptian darkness of the narrow upper hall, he felt his way carefully to the opposite end of the passage, found and unlocked another door, and stepped out upon a railed gallery running the full length of the building at the second-story level. A few steps to the right two windows and a door gave upon the gallery, and the windows were lighted. Once more resorting to the Indian tactics, Plegg crouched in the shadow and worked his way silently on hands and knees to the nearest window. The shade was partly drawn down, but since the night was unusually warm for the season and the altitude the window was open a few inches at the bottom. The view from the gallery was unobstructed. Plegg saw an interior gaudily furnished, a costly carpet, ill-kept and soiled by muddied boots, yellowed lace hangings at the windows, heavy mahogany chairs, scarred and with their leather upholstering chafed and abused, a marble-topped table littered with cigar stubs, an ash tray, a scattered deck of cards and an open box of cigars; the whole lighted by a hanging lamp with a cheap tin reflector.