“All quiet?” I asked of my guards, as we took our way down the street.

“All quiet,” said Porter.

“You'd better tell him,” said Barkhouse.

“Oh, yes,” said Porter, as if in sudden recollection. “Dicky Nahl was along here, and he said Terrill and Meeker and the other gang was holding a powwow at Borton's, and we'd best look out for surprises.”

“Was that all?”

“Well, he said he guessed there was a new deal on hand, and they was a-buzzin' like a nest of hornets. It was hornets, wasn't it, Bob?”

“Hornets was what he said,” repeated Barkhouse stolidly.

“Where's Dicky now?” I asked.

“I ain't good at guessing,” said Porter, “and Bob's nothing at all at it.”

“Well,” said I, “we had better go down to Borton's and look into this matter.”

There was silence for a time. My guards walked beside me without speaking, but I felt the protest in their manner. At last Barkhouse said respectfully:

“There's no use to do that, sir. You'd better send some one that ain't so likely to be nabbed, or that won't matter much if he is. We'd be in a pretty fix if you was to be took.”

“Here comes Dicky, now,” said Porter, as a dark figure came swinging lightly along.

“Hullo!” cried Dicky, halting and shading his eyes from the gaslight. “I was just going up to look for you again.”

“What's up, Dicky?”

“I guess it's the devil,” said Dicky, so gravely that I broke into a laugh.

“He's right at home if he's come to this town,” I said.

“I'm glad you find it so funny,” said Dicky in an injured tone. “You was scared enough last time.”

I had put my foot in it, sure enough. I might have guessed that the devil was not his Satanic Majesty but some evil-minded person in the flesh whom I had to fear.

“Can it be Doddridge Knapp?” flashed across my mind but I dismissed the suspicion as without foundation. I spoke aloud:

“Well, I've kept out of his claws this far, and it's no use to worry. What's he trying to do now?”

“That's what I've been trying to find out all the evening. They're noisy enough, but they're too thick to let one get near where there's anything going on—that is, if he has a fancy for keeping a whole skin.”

“Suppose we go down there now,” I suggested. “We might find out something.”

Dicky stopped short.

“CÆsar's ghost!” he gasped; “what next? Wouldn't you like to touch off a few powder-kegs for amusement? Won't you fire a pistol into your mouth to show how easy you can stop the bullet?”

“Why, you have been down there and are all right,” I argued.

“Well, there's nothing much to happen to me, but where would you be if they got hold of you? You're getting off your cabesa, old fellow,” said Dicky anxiously.

“If I could see Mother Borton I could fix it,” I said confidently.

“What! That she-devil?” cried Dicky. “She'd give you up to have your throat cut in a minute if she could get a four-bit piece for your carcass. I guess she could get more than that on you, too.”

Mother Borton's warnings against Dicky Nahl returned to me with force at this expression of esteem from the young man, and I was filled with doubts.

“I came up to tell you to look out for yourself,” continued Dicky. “I'm afraid they mean mischief, and here you come with a wild scheme for getting into the thick of it.”

“Well, I'll think better of it,” I said. “But see if you can find out what is going on. Come up and let me know if you get an inkling of their plans.”

“All right,” said Dicky. “But just sleep on a hair-trigger to-night.”

“Good night,” I said, as I turned toward my room, and Dicky, with an answering word, took his way toward the Borton place.

I had grown used to the silent terrors of my house. The weird fancies that clung around the gloomy halls and dark doorways still whispered their threatening tales of danger and death. The air was still peopled with the ghosts of forgotten crimes, and the tragedy of the alley that had changed my life was heavy on the place. But habit, and the confidence that had come to me with the presence of my guards, had made it a tolerable spot in which to live. But as we stumbled up the stairway the apprehensions of Dicky Nahl came strong upon me, and I looked ahead to the murky halls, and glanced at every doorway, as though I expected an ambush. Porter and Barkhouse marched stolidly along, showing little disposition to talk.

“What's that?” I exclaimed, stopping to listen.

“What was it?” asked Barkhouse, as we stopped on the upper landing and gazed into the obscurity.

“I thought I heard a noise,” said I. “Who's there?”

“It was a rat,” said Porter. “I've heard 'em out here of nights.”

“Well, just light that other gas-jet,” I said. “It will help to make things pleasant in case of accidents.”

The doors came out of the darkness as the second jet blazed up, but nothing else was to be seen.

Suddenly there was a scramble, and something sprang up before my door. Porter and I raised the revolvers that were ready in our hands, but Barkhouse sprang past us, and in an instant had closed with the figure and held it in his arms.

There was a volley of curses, oaths mingled with sounds that reminded me of nothing so much as a spitting cat, and a familiar voice screamed in almost inarticulate rage:

“Let me go, damn ye, or I'll knife ye!”

“Good heavens!” I cried. “Let her go, Barkhouse. It's Mother Borton.”

Mother Borton freed herself with a vicious shake, and called down the wrath of Heaven and hell on the stalwart guard.

“You're the black-hearted spawn of the sewer rats, to take a respectable woman like a bag of meal,” cried Mother Borton indignantly, with a fresh string of oaths. “It's fire and brimstone you'll be tasting yet, and you'd 'a' been there before now, you miserable gutter-picker, if it wasn't for me. And this is the thanks I git from ye!”

“I'll apologize for his display of gallantry,” said I banteringly. “I've always told him that he was too fond of the ladies.”

I was mistaken in judging that this tone would be the most effective to restore her to good humor. Mother Borton turned on me furiously.

“Oh, it's you that would set him on a poor woman as comes to do you a service. I was as wide-awake as any of ye. I never closed my eyes a wink, and you has to come a-sneakin' up and settin' your dogs on me.” Mother Borton again drew on an apparently inexhaustible vocabulary of oaths. “Oh, you're as bad as him,” she shouted, “and I reckon you'd be worse if you knowed how.” And she spat out more curses, and shook her fist in impotent but verbose rage.

“Come in,” I said, unlocking the door and lighting up my room. “You can be as angry as you like in here, and it won't hurt anything.”

Mother Borton stormed a bit, and then sullenly walked in and took a chair. Silence fell on her as she crossed the threshold, but she glowered on us with fierce eyes.

“It's quite an agreeable surprise to see you,” I ventured as cheerfully as I could, as she made no move to speak. My followers looked awkward and uncomfortable.

At the sound of my voice, Mother Borton's bent brows relaxed a little.

“If you'd send these fellows out, I reckon we could talk a bit better,” she said sourly.

“Certainly. Just wait in the hall, boys; and close the door.”

Porter and Barkhouse ambled out, and Mother Borton gave her chair a hitch that brought us face to face.

“You ain't so bad off here,” she said, looking around critically. “Can any one git in them winders?”

I explained that the west window might be entered from the rear stairway by the aid of the heavy shutter, if it were swung back and the window were open. I added that we kept it closed and secured.

“And you say there's a thirty-foot drop from this winder?” she inquired, pointing to the north.

I described the outlook on the alley.

She nodded as if satisfied.

“I reckon you don't think I come on a visit of perliteness?” she said sharply, after a brief silence.

I murmured something about being glad to entertain her at any time.

“Nonsense!” she sniffed. “I'm a vile old woman that the likes of you would never put eyes on twice if it wasn't for your business—none knows it better than me. I don't know why I should put myself out to help ye.” Her tone had a touch of pathos under its hardness.

“I know why,” I said, a little touched. “It's because you like me.”

She turned a softened eye on me.

“You're right,” she said almost tenderly, with a flash of womanly feeling on her seamed and evil face. “I've took a fancy to ye and no mistake, and I'd risk something to help ye.”

“I knew you would,” I said heartily.

“And that's what I come to do,” she said, with a sparkle of pleasure in her eye. “I've come to warn ye.”

“New dangers?” I inquired cheerfully. My prudence suggested that I had better omit any mention of the warning from Dicky Nahl.

“The same ones,” said Mother Borton shortly, “only more of 'em.”

Then she eyed me grimly, crouching in her chair with the appearance of an evil bird of prey, and seemed to wait for me to speak.

“What is the latest plot?” I asked gravely, as I fancied that my light manner grated on my strange guest.

“I don't know,” she said slowly.

“But you know something,” I argued.

“Maybe you know what I know better than I knows it myself,” growled Mother Borton with a significant glance.

I resigned myself to await her humor.

“Not at all,” said I carelessly. “I only know that you've come to tell me something, and that you'll tell it in your own good time.”

“It's fine to see that you've learned not to drive a woman,” she returned with grim irony. “It's something to know at your age.”

I smiled sympathetically upon her, and she continued:

“I might as well tell ye the whole of it, though I reckon my throat's jist as like to be slit over it as not.”

“I'll never breathe a word of it,” I replied fervently.

“I'd trust ye,” she said. “Well, there was a gang across the street to-night—across from my place, I mean—and that sneaking Tom Terrill and Darby Meeker, and I reckon all the rest of 'em, was there. And they was runnin' back and forth to my place, and a-drinkin' a good deal, and the more they drinks the louder they talks. And I hears Darby Meeker say to one feller, 'We'll git him, sure!' and I listens with all my ears, though pretendin' to see nothin'. 'We'll fix it this time,' he said; 'the Old Un's got his thinkin' cap on.' And I takes in every word, and by one thing and another I picks up that there's new schemes afoot to trap ye. They was a-sayin' as it might be an idee to take ye as you come out of Knapp's to-night.”

“How did they know I was at Knapp's?” I asked, somewhat surprised, though I had little reason to be when I remembered the number of spies who might have watched me.

“Why, Dicky Nahl told 'em,” said Mother Borton. “He was with the gang, and sings it out as pretty as you please.”

This gave me something new to think about, but I said nothing.

“Well,” she continued, “they says at last that won't do, fer it'll git 'em into trouble, and I reckon they're argyfying over their schemes yit. But one thing I finds out.”

Mother Borton stopped and looked at me anxiously.

“Well,” I said impatiently, “what was it?”

“They're a-sayin' as how, if you're killed, the one as you knows on'll have to git some one else to look after the boy, and mebbe he won't be so smart about foolin' them.”

“That's an excellent idea,” said I. “If they only knew that I was the other fellow they could see at once what a bright scheme they had hit upon.”

“Maybe they ain't a-goin' to do it,” said Mother Borton. “There's a heap o' things said over the liquor that don't git no further, but you'll be a fool if you don't look out. Now, do as I tell you. You just keep more men around you. Keep eyes in the back of your head, and if you see there's a-goin' to be trouble, jest you shoot first and ax questions about it afterward. They talked of getting you down on the water-front or up in Chinatown with some bogus message and said how easy it would be to dispose of you without leaving clues behind 'em. Now, don't you sleep here without three or four men on guard, and don't you stir round nights with less than four. Send Porter out to git two more men, and tell him to look sharp and see if the coast's clear outside. I reckon I'll slide out if no one's lookin'.”

“I've got some men on the next floor,” I said. “I thought it would be just as well to have a few around in case of emergencies. I'll have two of them out, and send Porter to reconnoiter.”

“Who told you to git your men together?”

“A little idea of my own.”

“You've got some sense, after all.”

The reinforcements were soon ready to take orders, and Porter returned to bring word that no suspicious person was in sight in the street.

“I reckon I'd best go, then,” said Mother Borton. “I don't want no knife in me jest yit, but if there's no one to see me I'm all right.”

I pressed Mother Borton to take two of my men as escort, but she sturdily refused.

“They'd know something was up if I was to go around that way, and I'd be a bloody ghost as soon as they could ketch me alone,” she said. “Well, good night—or is it mornin'? And do take keer of yourself, dearie.” And, so saying, Mother Borton muffled herself up till it was hard to tell whether she was man or woman, and trudged away.

Whatever designs were brewing in the night-meeting of the conspirators, they did not appear to concern my immediate peace of body. The two following days were spent in quiet, and, in spite of warnings, I began to believe that no new plan of action had been determined on.

“Don't you feel too sure of yourself,” said Dicky Nahl, to whom I confided this view of the situation. “You won't feel so funny about it if you get prodded in the ribs with a bowie some dark night, or find your head wrapped up in a blanket when you think you're just taking a 'passy-ar' in Washington Square in the evening.”

Dicky looked very much in earnest, and his bright and airy manner was gone for the moment.

“You seem to get along well enough with them,” I suggested tartly, remembering Mother Borton's stories with some suspicion.

“Of course,” said Dicky. “Why shouldn't I? They're all right if you don't rub the fur the wrong way. But I haven't got state secrets in my pockets, so they know it's no use to pick 'em.”

I was not at all sure of Dicky's fidelity, in spite of his seeming earnestness, but I forbore to mention my doubts, and left the garrulous young man to go his way while I turned to the office that had been furnished by Doddridge Knapp. I hardly expected to meet the King of the Street. He had, I supposed, returned to the city, but he had set Wednesday as the day for resuming operations in the market, and I did not think that he would be found here on Monday.

The room was cold and cheerless, and the dingy books in law-calf appeared to gaze at me in mute protest as I looked about me.

The doors that separated me from Doddridge Knapp's room were shut and locked. What was behind them? I wondered. Was there anything in Doddridge Knapp's room that bore on the mystery of the hidden boy, or would give the clue to the murder of Henry Wilton? As I gazed on the panels the questions became more and more insistent. Was it not my duty to find the answer? The task brought my mind to revolt. Yet the thought grew on me that it was necessary to my task. If vengeance was to be mine; if Doddridge Knapp was to pay the penalty of the gallows for the death of Henry Wilton, it must be by the evidence that I should wrest from him and his tools. I must not stop at rummaging papers, nor at listening at keyholes. I had just this morning secured the key that would fit the first door. I had taken the impression of the lock and had it made without definite purpose, but now I was ready to act.

With a sinking heart but a clear head I put the key cautiously to the lock and gently turned it. The key fitted perfectly, and the bolt flew back as it made the circle. I opened the door into the middle room. The second door, as I expected, was closed. Would the same key fit the second lock, or must I wait to have another made? I advanced to the second door and was about to try the key when a sound from behind it turned my blood to water.

Beyond that door, from the room I had supposed to be empty, I heard a groan.

I stood as if petrified, and, in the broad daylight that streamed in at the window, with the noise and rush of Clay Street ringing in my ears, I felt my hair rise as though I had come on a ghost. I listened a minute or more, but heard nothing.

“Nonsense!” I thought to myself; “it was a trick of the imagination.”

I raised my hand once more to the lock, when the sound broke again, louder, unmistakable. It was the voice of one in distress of body or mind.

What was it? Could it be some prisoner of Doddridge Knapp's, brought hither by the desperate band that owned him as employer? Was it a man whom I might succor? Or was it Doddridge Knapp himself, overwhelmed by recollection and remorse, doing penance in solitude for the villainy he had done and dared not confess? I listened with all my ears. Then there came through the door the low, stern tones of a man's voice speaking earnestly, pleadingly, threateningly, but in a suppressed monotone.

Then the groan broke forth again, and it was followed by sobs and choked sounds, as of one who protested, yet, strangely, the voice was the same. There was one man, not two. It was self-accusation, self-excuse, and the sobs seemed to come in answer to self-reproaches.

Then there was sound as of a man praying, and the prayer was broken by sobs; and again I thought there were two men. And then there was noise of a man moving about, and a long smothered groan, as of one in agony of spirit. Fearful that the door might be flung open in my face, I tiptoed back to my room, and silently turned the key, as thoroughly mystified as ever I had been in the strange events that had crowded my life since I had entered the city.