Mr. George Bremner, Superintendent, Golden Crescent Trading Co., Golden Crescent Bay, B. C. Hello! I thought; Joe Clark at last has been putting some of his threats into execution. Now for the fireworks! I opened the envelope and found that my conjecture was a wrong one and that Joe Clark's knife for me,--if he had one,--was not yet sharpened. "Dear Sir," the letter ran, "We have received a letter from Messrs. Eldergrove & Price, Solicitors for the property adjoining that of the Golden Crescent Co.'s, informing us that some friends of the owner have permission from him to occupy his house at Golden Crescent. This refers to the house in proximity to the wharf and the store. It is at present boarded up. "Two Japanese women will arrive by the steamer _Cloochman_ at the end of the week to open up, air, clean out the house and put it in order. These cleaners will return to Vancouver by the same steamer on her southward journey the following week. "This letter is written simply to inform you of the facts, so that you may know that nothing illegal is going on. "Of course, we are in no way interested in this property. "Yours truly, "DOW, CROSS & SNEDDON." I showed the letter to Jake, who expressed a fear that the Bay was becoming "a damned pleasure resort," as this would make the second time in five years that visitors had been staying in that house. On the strength of the news, he drank an extra half-cup of whisky, then said, for decency's sake he would row out and bring the Japs ashore when the _Cloochman_ came in. Two shy, pretty, little women they proved, who thanked Jake with smiles and profuse bows, much to that old rascal's confusion. They were all bustle and work. They had the boards down from the windows and had the doors and windows wide open five minutes after they got ashore. Morning, noon and night, they were scrubbing, washing, beating, dusting, polishing and airing, until I was more inquisitive than an old maid's cat to view the results of their labours. But my sense of propriety overcame my curiosity, and, for the time being, I remained in ignorance. One night, after the little workers had gone back to Vancouver, I was lying in my bed enjoying Robert Louis Stevenson's "Virginibus Puerisque," when I fancied I heard the throbbing of a gasoline launch. I rose and looked out at the open window; but it was one of those inky-black nights, without either moon or stars, a night when even the sea became invisible,--so I saw nothing. When the throbbing ceased, I heard the sound of oars and, as a small boat evidently neared the shore, there came a sound of voices, both male and female. Two trips were made from the launch, one bearing the people, I presumed, the other conveying their baggage. I had no doubt in my mind that my new neighbours were arriving, although I might have been stone-blind so far as anything being visible was concerned.