The listener heard the crackling of paper and then a long silence. The men were evidently reading together. “M--m!” It was Lambaire’s grunt of satisfaction he heard. “I think this is all we want to know--we must get this copied at once. There won’t be much difficulty in placing the mine ... oh, this is the map....” There was another long pause. Amber had to act, and act quickly. They were gaining information which would enable them to describe the position of the mine, even if they succeeded in making no copy of the little map which accompanied the prospectus. He judged from the indistinct tone of their voices that they were sitting with their backs to the door behind which he crouched. Lambaire and Whitey were in fact in that position. They sat close together under the one electric light the room possessed, greedily absorbing the particulars. “We shall have to check this with a bigger map,” said Whitey. “I don’t recognize some of these places--they are called by native names.” “I’ve got a real good map at my diggings,” Lambaire said. “Suppose you bring along these things. It isn’t so much that we’ve got to give an accurate copy of this plan--we’ve got to be sure in our own minds exactly where the ‘pipe’ is situated.” “That’s so,” said the other reluctantly. “It ought to be done at once. Amber will suspect us and we shall move in a Haze of Splits by this time to-morrow.” He folded up the documents and slipped them into a long envelope. Then he stood thinking. “Lammie,” he said, “did you hear the porter say that a visitor had come during the night?” “Yes, but that’s usual, isn’t it?” Whitey shook his head. “Unusual,” he said shortly, “dam’ unusual.” “Do you think----” “I don’t know. I’m a bit nervy,” said the other, “but the visitor has been on my mind ever since I came in. I’m going up to have a look at his boots.” “Why?” “Don’t be a fool, and don’t ask foolish questions,” snarled Whitey. “Visitors put their boots outside the door, don’t they? You can tell a lot from a pair of boots.” He handed the envelope containing the stolen prospectus to his companion. “Take this,” he said, “and wait till I come down.” He unlocked the door and mounted the stairs cautiously. Lambaire waited there. “Lambaire!” hissed a voice from the open door. “Yes.” “Give me the envelope, quick.” A hand, an eager demanding hand, reached through the little gap. “Stay where you are--give me the envelope.” Quickly Lambaire obeyed. The hand grasped the envelope, another closed the door quickly, and there was silence. “Now what the devil is wrong,” muttered the startled Lambaire. He felt himself turning pale. There had been a hint of imminent danger in the urgency of the voice. He waited, tense, alert, fearful; then he heard quick steps on the stairs, and Whitey dashed into the room. “Nobody there,” he said breathlessly. “A pair of shoes covered with mud and a pair of gloves--it’s Amber.” “Amber!”