“All safe?” I inquired. “It's all right,” said Barkhouse. “There's a dozen men in the bar-room, and I'm not sure there ain't some of the hounds amongst them. But you're to go in the side door, and right up stairs.” “Two of you may keep at the foot of the stairs, just inside the door,” I said. “You may stand watch outside, Barkhouse.” There was sound of rude song, and the clink of glass and bottle in the bar and dining-room, as I passed through the side hall. But the door was closed, and I saw nothing of the late revelers. In the upper hallway Mother Borton stood by an open door, silhouetted dark and threatening against the dim flickerings that came from the candle in the room behind her. I had but opened my mouth to give her word of greeting when she raised a warning claw, and then seizing me, drew me swiftly into the room and closed and locked the door. “How air ye, dearie?” she said, surveying me with some apparent pride. “You're safe and whole, ain't ye?” As the candlelight fell on her face, she seemed older and more like a bird of prey than ever. The nose and chin had taken a sharper cast, the lines of her face were deeper drawn with the marks of her evil life, and her breath was strong with the strength of water-front whisky. But her eyes burned bright and keen as ever in their sunken sockets, with the fire of her fevered brain behind them. “I am safe,” I said, “though I had a close shave in Chinatown.” “I heerd of it,” said Mother Borton sourly. “I reckon it ain't much good to sit up nights to tell you how to take keer of yourself. It's a wonder you ever growed up. Your mammy must 'a' been mighty keerful about herdin' ye under cover whenever it rained.” “I _was_ a little to blame,” I admitted, “but your warning was not thrown away. I thought I was well-guarded.” Mother Borton sniffed contemptuously. “I s'pose you come down here alone?” “No.” And I explained the disposition of my forces. “That's not so bad,” she said. “They could git up here soon enough, I reckon, if there was a row. But I guess you didn't think I sent for ye jest to tell ye you was a fool in Chinatown.” I admitted that I should have expected to wait till morning for such a piece of information. “Well,” said Mother Borton, “that ain't it. Something's up.” “And what might it be?” I inquired. “The moon?” Mother Borton did not take this flippancy kindly. Her face grew darker and more evil as it was framed in the dancing shadows behind her. “You can git a knife in ye as easy as winking if I'll jest keep my mouth shut,” she cried spitefully. “Yes,” said I repentantly, putting my hand upon her arm. “But you are my very good friend, and will tell me what I ought to know.” The creature's face lighted at my tone and action, and her eyes melted with a new feeling. “That I will,” she said; “that I will, as if you were my own boy.”