Part 76 (1/2)

Sogrange shrugged his shoulders lightly.

”We are lookers-on merely,” he explained. ”My friend and I have traveled a good deal. We have seen something of criminal life in Paris and London, Vienna and Budapest. I shall not break any confidence if I tell you that my friend is a writer, and material such as this is useful.”

The newcomer smiled.

”Well,” he exclaimed, ”in a way, it's fortunate for you that I happened along! You come right with me and I'll show you something that very few other people in this city know of. Guess you'd better pay this fellow off,” he added, indicating the ex-detective. ”He's no more use to you.”

Sogrange and Peter exchanged questioning glances.

”It is very kind of you, sir,” Peter decided, ”but for my part I have had enough for one evening.”

”Just as you like, of course,” the other remarked, with studied unconcern.

”What sort of place would it be?” Sogrange asked.

The newcomer drew them on one side, although, as a matter of fact, every one else had already melted away.

”Have you ever heard of the Secret Societies of New York?” he inquired.

”Well, I guess you haven't, any way--not to know anything about them.

Well, then, listen. There's a Society meets within a few steps of here, which has more to do with regulating the criminal cla.s.ses of the city than any police establishment. There'll be a man there within an hour or so, who, to my knowledge, has committed seven murders. The police can't get him. They never will. He's under our protection.”

”May we visit such a place as you describe without danger?” Peter asked, calmly.

”No!” the man answered. ”There's danger in going anywhere, it seems to me, if it's worth while. So long as you keep a still tongue in your head and don't look about you too much, there's nothing will happen to you.

If you get ga.s.sing a lot, you might tumble in for almost anything. Don't come unless you like. It's a chance for your friend, as he's a writer, but you'd best keep out of it if you're in any way nervous.”

”You said it was quite close?” Sogrange inquired.

”Within a yard or two,” the man replied. ”It's right this way.”

They left the hall with their new escort. When they looked for their motor car, they found it had gone.

”It don't do to keep them things waiting about round here,” their new friend remarked, carelessly. ”I guess I'll send you back to your hotel all right. Step this way.”

”By the bye, what street is this we are in?” Peter asked.

”100th Street,” the man answered.

Peter shook his head.

”I'm a little superst.i.tious about that number,” he declared. ”Is that an elevated railway there? I think we've had enough, Sogrange.”

Sogrange hesitated. They were standing now in front of a tall gloomy house, unkempt, with broken gate--a large but miserable-looking abode.

The pa.s.sers-by in the street were few. The whole character of the surroundings was squalid. The man pushed open the broken gate.

”You cross the street right there to the elevated,” he directed. ”If you ain't coming, I'll bid you good-night.”

Once more they hesitated. Peter, perhaps, saw more than his companion.