Everything was still. There was not even the ticking of
a clock, the one sound he might reasonably have expected to hear even
in a temporarily deserted house. But he waited for quite a minute, to
make sure that no one was about. He felt certain that, had anyone been
there, he would have heard breathing, no matter how anxious the other
occupant of the house might be to conceal his presence.
Then he switched on the light, shielding it with his hand, so that no
reflection of its faint glow should betray him, by means of the
windows, to anyone approaching from outside.
About the big room in which he found himself there was nothing to
excite suspicion at first sight. The room seemed ordinary enough; the
usual living-room of a peasant. One thing was curious; he could see a
trap door, evidently leading to a cellar below. But that he reserved
for later inspection, preferring at first to look upstairs. He reached
the second floor by the stairs; there, too, there seemed at first
nothing out of the ordinary. But when he threw aside all scruples and
looked everywhere, he found something that confirmed some at least of
his suspicions--a bundle of letters, all written in German script. He
did not stop to read the letters, but on the chance that they might
contain something that would prove valuable or important, he slipped
them into his pocket.
As yet, however, he had made no real discovery.
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