As the taxi moved off we three—O’Mally’s detective slipped away into the shadow like a ghost—walked up a little path to the front door where I pulled an old-fashioned bell handle. I could hear the sound go jingling through the hall, loud and cracked, and then steps, languid and dragging, come from somewhere in the rear. I was to act as spokesman, my cue being to ask for Mr. Sammis on a matter of urgent business. The door was opened by the colored girl, who looked at us stupidly and then said she’d call Miss Graves, the landlady, as she didn’t think anyone could see Mr. Sammis. Standing back from the door she let us into a hall with a hatrack on one side and a flight of stairs going up at the back. The light was dim, coming from a globe held aloft by a figure that crowned the newel post. The paper on the walls, some dark striped pattern, seemed to absorb what little radiance there was and the whole place smelled musty and was as quiet as a church. The colored girl had disappeared down a long passage and presently a door opened back there and a woman came out, tall and thin, in a skimpy black dress. She approached us as we stood in a group by the hatrack, leaning forward near-sightedly and blinking at us through silver-rimmed spectacles. "My maid says you want to see Mr. Sammis," she said, in an unamiable voice. "Yes," I answered. "We’ve come from New York and it’s imperative we see him this evening." "But you can’t," she snapped. "He’s sick. The doctor says he mustn’t be disturbed." Talking it over afterward we all confessed that we were seized by the same idea—that this lanky old spinster might be in the game and Barker’s illness was a fake. Feeling as I did I was ready to leap forward, grab her, and lock her in her own parlor while the others chased up the stairs. I could sense the slight, uneasy stir of the two men beside me, and I tried to inject a determination into my voice, that while it was civil was also informing: "I’m sorry, but it’s absolutely necessary that we transact our business with him now." "Can’t you give me a message?" she demurred, squinting her eyes up behind the glasses. "I’ll see that it’s delivered in the morning." "No, Madam. This is important and can’t wait. We won’t be long, we only have to consult with him for a few minutes." She gave a shrug as much as to say, "Well, this is your affair!" and, drawing back, pointed to the stairs. "He’s up there, fourth floor front, second door to your left." To each of us the suspicion that she was in with Barker had grown with every minute. The idea once lodged in our minds, possessed them, and we went up those stairs, slow at first, and then, as we got out of earshot, faster and faster. It was a run on the second flight and a gallop on the third. On this landing there was no gas lit, but a window at the end of the passage let in a square of moonlight that lay bright on the floor and showed us the hall’s dim length and the outlines of closed doors.