Blindfolded | Page 3

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 the guards again. I can have them together by midnight."
"Can I help?"
"No. Just wait here till I get back. Bolt the door, and let nobody in but me. It isn't likely that they will try to do anything before midnight. If they do--well, here's a revolver. Shoot through the door if anybody tries to break it down."
I stood in the door, revolver in hand, watched him down the hall, and listened to his footsteps as they descended the stairs and at last faded away into the murmur of life that came up from the