Before the mysterious one had reached the Bowery, those scores of waiting, watching Hip Sing Tongs had vanished, and Pell Street was as empty as the promise of a politician. “Now,” whispered Ching Lee to Sam Kum, who kept the chop suey shop, as they turned to go--“now he meet Ling Tchen, mebby so!” One o'clock. Tony began to think about locking his front door. This, out of respect for the law. Not that beer and revelry were to cease in Number Twelve, but because such was Tony's understanding with the precinct skipper. Some reformer might come snooping else, and lodge complaint against that skipper with the Commissioner of Police. Just as Tony, on bidding “Good-bye!” to Mrs. Vee and her purple fluttering flock, had been impressed by the crowded condition of Pell Street, so now, when he made ready to lock up, was he impressed by that causeway's profound emptiness. “Say,” he cried to his guests in the rear, “you stews come here! This is funny; there ain't a chink in sight!” “D'youse think th' bulls are gettin' ready for a raid?” asked Sop Henry. Sop, with the Nailer and the Wop, had joined Tony in the door. “Perhaps there's somethin' doin' over at th' Elizabeth Street station, an' the wardman's passed th' monks th' tip.” “Nothin' in that,” responded Tony, confidently. “Wouldn't I be put wise, too?” Marvelling much, Tony fastened his door, and joined old Jimmy, Pretty Agnes and the others in the rear room. When he got there, he found old Jimmy sniffing with suspicious nose, and swearing he smelled gas. “One of your pipes is leakin', Tony,” said Jimmy, “leakin' for fair, too, or I'm a Dago!” Tony, in refutation, called attention to a patent truth. He used electric light, not gas. “But they use gas upstairs,” he added. Then, half-anxiously; “It can't be some hop-head has blown out the gas?” The thought was enough to start the Dropper, ever full of enterprise. “Let's have a look,” said he. “Nailer you an' th' Wop come wit' me.” Tony again opened the front door, and the Dropper, followed by the Wop and the Nailer, filed into the stairway that led to the floor above. They made noise enough, blundering and stumbling in the sudden hurry of spirit which had gripped them. As they reached the landing near Mike's door, the odor of gas was even more pronounced than in Tony's rear room. The hall was blind black with the thick darkness that filled it. “How about this?” queried the Dropper. “I thought a gas jet was always boinin' in th' hall.” The Dropper, growing fearful, hung back. With that, the Wop pushed forward and took the lead. Only for a moment. Giving a cry, he sprang back with such sudden force that he sent the Dropper headlong down the stairs. “Th' Virgin save us!” exclaimed the Wop, “but I touched somethin' soft!” “What's th' row?” demanded Tony, coming to the foot of the stairs. At the Dropper's request, Tony brought a candle, used by him in excursions to those crypts wherein he kept his whiskey.