He stepped behind the case, carefully examining the ground all around it, and close beside the tree to which it was nailed he found a deep, fresh footprint in the spongy soil--a long, narrow print, that was never made by the foot of Wessner.

His heart tugged in his breast as he mentally measured the print, but he did not linger, for now the feeling arose that he was being watched.

It seemed to him that he could feel the eyes of some intruder at his back.

He knew he was examining things too closely: if anyone were watching, he did not want him to know that he felt it.
He took the most open way, and carried water for his flowers and moss as usual; but he put himself into no position in which he was fully exposed, and his hand was close his revolver constantly.

Growing restive at last under the strain, he plunged boldly into the swamp and searched minutely all around his room, but he could not discover the least thing to give him further cause for alarm.