"Indeed I do. I have an engagement to meet Clark at their headquarters, down at the House of Blazes to-morrow night. He is going to introduce me to some of the leaders, and I hope to get a line on what they are planning." "The House of Blazes? What’s that?" "Oh, it’s a saloon down on Tar Flat. The socialists and anarchists and a lot of other ’ists’ loaf around there and drink beer in their hours of ease, and I believe there is a hall there where they hold their meetings." "Umph! I hope you’ll enjoy your evening. But don’t get your head smashed." Wharton Kendrick was silent a little, and then continued thoughtfully: "I don’t see what P. Bolton can expect to gain out of a lot of crack-brained fanatics like that, but you can do as you like about looking into them. I suspect, though, that this is just a blind for something else. Just remember that if you are expecting P. Bolton to show himself in one place, he’s sure to turn up in another. Now, is that all your budget?" "One thing more. Bolton has a little detective bureau of his own. He has engaged Jim Morgan, the prize-fighter, with three or four more of the same sort, and you’re being watched. I’ve no doubt there’s a fellow out by the door, waiting to follow you home. So I’ll take the liberty of walking with you, and engage a few reliable body-guards to-morrow." Wharton Kendrick’s mouth closed with a snap. "Not much--no body-guards for me! I’ve walked San Francisco for twenty years in the face of Peter Bolton, and I’m not going to be afraid of him at this day. Hire all the men you want, but set them to looking after P. Bolton--not after me." "There are two at his heels already." "Good; but I’m afraid a hundred wouldn’t be enough to keep track of the old fox," laughed Kendrick. "Well, it’s time to be getting home. Reach me my hat there, will you? Make sure of the door--here goes the light." And he followed me into the hall and turned the key behind him. "Now, there’s no need for you to go home with me," he continued. "It’s my way as well as yours," I replied, "and unless you object to my company, we’ll go together." We faced the west wind that came in gusts from over Nob Hill, with the salt freshness of the ocean fog heavy upon it, turned north at Kearny Street, and at Clay Street took the hill-climbing cable-car that still passed as one of the city’s novelties. From the western end of the line we walked to the Kendrick residence on Van Ness Avenue. "Well, good night, my boy," he said. "Sorry to have brought you up here for nothing. If you should get any light on the Council’s plans to-morrow night, come up here next evening--say at eight o’clock. I may have an idea of my own by that time." And he closed the door.