"It is very kind of you, sir," Peter decided, "but for my part I have had enough for one evening." "Just as you like, of course," the other remarked, with studied unconcern. "What kind of place would it be?" Sogrange asked. The new-comer drew them on one side, although, as a matter of fact, everyone else had melted away. "Have you ever heard of the secret societies of New York?" he inquired. "Well, I guess you haven't, anyway--not to know anything about them. Well, then, listen. There's a society meets within a few steps of here, which has more to do with regulating the criminal classes of the city than any police establishment. There'll be a man there within an hour or so who, to my knowledge, has committed seven murders. The police can't get him. They never will. He's under our protection." "May we visit such a place as you describe without danger?" Peter asked calmly. "No!" the man answered. "There's danger in going anywhere, it seems to me, if it's worth while. So long as you keep a still tongue in your head and don't look about you too much, there's nothing will happen to you. If you get gassing a lot, you might tumble in for almost anything. Don't come unless you like. It's a chance for you, as you're a writer, but you'd best keep out of it if you're in any way nervous." "You said it was quite close?" Sogrange inquired. "Within a yard or two," the man replied. "It's right this way." They left the hall with their new escort. When they looked for their motor-car, they found it had gone. "It don't do to keep them things waiting about round here," their new friend remarked, carelessly. "I guess I'll send you back to your hotel all right. Step this way." "By the by, what street is this we are in?" Peter asked. "100th Street," the man answered. Peter shook his head. "I'm a little superstitious about that number," he declared. "Is that an elevated railway there? I think we've had enough, Sogrange." Sogrange hesitated. They were standing now in front of a tall, gloomy house, unkempt, with broken gate--a large but miserable-looking abode. The passers-by in the street were few. The whole character of the surroundings was squalid. The man pushed open the broken gate. "You cross the road right there to the elevated," he directed. "If you ain't coming, I'll bid you good-night." Once more they hesitated. Peter, perhaps, saw more than his companion. He saw the dark shapes lurking under the railway arch. He knew instinctively that they were in some sort of danger. And yet the love of adventure was on fire in his blood. His belief in himself was immense. He whispered to Sogrange. "I do not trust our guide," he said. "If you care to risk it, I am with you." "Mind the broken pavement," the man called out. "This ain't exactly an abode of luxury."