“All right,” I said. I was not entirely trustful, and after I had lighted the gas-jet I picked up the stone that lay among the fragments of glass, and unwrapped the paper. The sheet bore only the words: “At Borton's, at midnight. Richmond.” This was the name of the agent of the Unknown, who had sent the other note. Dicky and his companion must then be protectors instead of enemies. I hastened to unlock the door, and in walked my two visitors. The first was a young man, tall, well-made, with a shrewd, good-humored countenance, and a ready, confident air about him. I had no trouble in picking him out as the amused Dicky. The other was a black-bearded giant, who followed stolidly in the wake of the younger man. “You've led me a pretty chase,” said Dicky. “If it hadn't been for Pork Chops here, I shouldn't have found you till the cows come home.” “Well, what's up now?” I asked. “Why, you ought to know,” said Dicky with evident surprise. “But you'd better be hurrying down to Borton's. The gang must be there by now.” I could only wonder who Borton might be, and where his place was, and what connection he might have with the mystery, as Dicky took me by the arm and hurried me out into the darkness. The chill night air served to nerve instead of depress my spirits, as the garrulous Dicky unconsciously guided me to the meeting-place, joyously narrating some amusing adventure of the day, while the heavy retainer stalked in silence behind. Down near the foot of Jackson Street, where the smell of bilge-water and the wash of the sewers grew stronger, and the masts of vessels could just be seen in the darkness outlined against the sky, Dicky suddenly stopped and drew me into a doorway. Our retainer disappeared at the same instant, and the street was apparently deserted. Then out of the night the shape of a man approached with silent steps. “Five-sixteen,” croaked Dicky. The man gave a visible start. “Sixteen-five,” he croaked in return. “Any signs?” whispered Dicky. “Six men went up stairs across the street. Every one of them did the sailor-drunk act.” “Sure they weren't sailors?” “Well, when six coves goes up the same stairs trying the same dodge, all inside of ten minutes, I has a right to my suspicions. And Darby Meeker ain't been to sea yet that I knows on.” “Darby Meeker!” exclaimed Dicky in a whisper. And he drew a whistle under his breath. “What do you think of that, Wilton? I had no idea he was back from that wild-goose chase you sent him on.” “It looks bad,” I admitted cautiously. “I dare say he isn't in good temper.” “You'll have to settle with him for that piece of business,” said Dicky with a chuckle. I failed to see the amusing side of the prospect. I wished I knew what Mr. Meeker looked like.