Blindfolded | Page 3

were going. We mounted one flight of stairs, I remember, and after
passing through two or three winding hallways and down another flight,
came out on a side street.
After a pause to observe the street before we ventured forth, Henry
said:
"I guess we're all right now. We must chance it, anyhow." So we
dodged along in the shadow till we came to Montgomery Street, and
after a brief walk, turned into a gloomy doorway and mounted a worn
pair of stairs.
The house was three stories in height. It stood on the corner of an alley,
and the lower floor was intended for a store or saloon; but a renting
agent's sign and a collection of old show-bills ornamenting the dirty
windows testified that it was vacant. The liquor business appeared to be
overdone in that quarter, for across the alley, hardly twenty feet away,
was a saloon; across Montgomery Street was another; and two more
held out their friendly lights on the corner of the street above.
In the saloons the disreputability was cheerful, and cheerfully
acknowledged with lights and noise, here of a broken piano, there of a
wheezy accordion, and, beyond, of a half-drunken man singing or
shouting a ribald song. Elsewhere it was sullen and dark,--the lights,
where there were lights, glittering through chinks, or showing the
outlines of drawn curtains.
"This isn't just the place I'd choose for entertaining friends," said Henry,
with a visible relief from his uneasiness, as we climbed the worn and
dirty stair.

"Oh, that's all right," I said, magnanimously accepting his apology.
"It doesn't have all the modern conveniences," admitted Henry as we
stumbled up the second flight, "but it's suitable to the business we have
in hand, and--"
"What's that?" I exclaimed, as a creaking, rasping sound came from the
hall below.
We stopped and listened, peering into the obscurity beneath.
Nothing but silence. The house might have been a tomb for any sign of
life that showed within it.
"It must have been outside," said Henry. "I thought for a moment
perhaps--" Then he checked himself. "Well, you'll know later," he
concluded, and opened the door of the last room on the right of the hall.
As we entered, he held the door ajar for a full minute, listening intently.
The obscurity of the hall gave back nothing to eye or ear, and at last he
closed the door softly and touched a match to the gas.
The room was at the rear corner of the building. There were two
windows, one looking to the west, the other to the north and opening on
the narrow alley.
"Not so bad after you get in," said Henry, half as an introduction, half
as an apology.
"It's luxury after six days of railroading," I replied.
"Well, lie down there, and make the most of it, then," he said, "for there
may be trouble ahead." And he listened again at the crack of the door.
"In Heaven's name, Henry, what's up?" I exclaimed with some temper.
"You're as full of mysteries as a dime novel."
Henry smiled grimly.

"Maybe you don't recognize that this is serious business," he said.
"I don't understand it at all."
"Well, I'm not joking. There's mischief afoot, and I'm in danger."
"From whom? From what?"
"Never mind that now. It's another person's business--not mine, you
understand--and I can't explain until I know whether you are to be one
of us or not."
"That's what I came for, isn't it?"
"Hm! You don't seem to be overly pleased with the job."
"Which isn't surprising, when I haven't the first idea what it is, except
that it seems likely to get me killed or in jail."
"Oh, if you're feeling that way about it, I know of another job that will
suit you better in--"
"I'm not afraid," I broke in hotly. "But I want to see the noose before I
put my head in it."
"Then I'm sure the assistant bookkeeper's place I have in mind will--"
"Confound your impudence!" I cried, laughing in spite of myself at the
way he was playing on me. "Assistant bookkeeper be hanged! I'm with
you from A to Z; but if you love me, don't keep me in the dark."
"I'll tell you all you need to know. Too much might be dangerous."
I was about to protest that I could not know too much, when Henry
raised his hand with a warning to silence. I heard the sound of a
cautious step outside. Then Henry sprang to the door, flung it open, and
bolted down the passage. There was the gleam of a revolver in his hand.
I hurried after him, but as I crossed the threshold he was coming softly
back, with finger on lips.

"I must see to