The guard had melted away into the darkness without another word, and we hurried forward with due caution. Just past the next corner was a lighted room, and the sound of voices broke the quiet. A triangular glass lantern projected from above the door, and such of the paint as had not weathered away made the announcement: [Illustration: BORTON'S Meals Liquors Lodgings] We pushed open the door and walked in. The room was large and dingy, the ceiling low. Tables were scattered about the sanded floor. A bar took up the side of the room next the entrance, and a general air of disreputability filled the place. The only attempts at ornament, unless the arrangement of various-colored bottles behind the bar came under that head, were the circles and festoons of dirty cut paper hanging from the ceiling. About the room, some at the tables, some at the bar, were numbers of stout, rough-looking men, with a few Greek fishermen and two or three sailors. Behind the bar sat a woman whose appearance in that place almost startled me. She might have been nearing seventy, and a hard and evil life had left its marks on her bent frame and her gaunt face. Her leathery cheeks were lined deep, and a hawk-like nose emphasized the unpleasant suggestions conveyed by her face and figure. But the most remarkable feature about her was her eyes. There was no trace of age in them. Bright and keen as the eyes of a rat, they gave me an unpleasant thrill as I felt her gaze fixed upon me when I entered the door, arm in arm with Dicky. It was as though they had pierced me through, and had laid bare something I would have concealed. It was a relief to pass beyond her into a recessed part of the room where her gaze might waste itself on the back of my head. “Mother Borton's up late to-night,” said Dicky thoughtfully, as he ordered wine. “You can't blame her for thinking that this crowd needs watching,” I suggested with as much of airiness as I could throw into my manner. Dicky shook his head for a second, and then resumed his light-hearted, bantering way. Yet I could see that he was perplexed and anxious about something that had come to his attention on our arrival. “You'll not want to attend to business till all the boys are here?” asked Dicky. “Not unless there's something to be done,” I responded dryly. Dicky gave me a quick glance. “Of course,” he said with a laugh that was not quite easy, “not unless there's something to be done. But I thought there was something.” “You've got a fine mind for thinking, Dicky,” I replied. “You'd better cultivate it.” “Well, they say there's nothing like society for that sort of cultivation,” said Dicky with another laugh. “They don't say what kind, but I've got a pretty good stock here to choose from.” He was at his ease in banter again, but it struck unpleasantly on me that there was something behind. “Oh, here's a queer friend,” he said suddenly, looking to the door. “I'd better speak to him on the matter of countersigns.”