They climbed some broken steps. Their guide opened a door with a Yale key. The door swung to after them and they found themselves in darkness. There had been no light in the windows. There was no light, apparently, in the house. Their companion produced an electric torch from his pocket. "You had best follow me," he advised. "Our quarters face out the other way. We keep this end looking a little deserted." They passed through a swing door and everything was at once changed. A multitude of lamps hung from the ceiling, the floor was carpeted, the walls clean. "We don't go in for electric light," their guide explained, "as we try not to give the place away. We manage to keep it fairly comfortable, though." He pushed open the door and entered a somewhat gorgeously furnished salon. There were signs here of feminine occupation, an open piano, and the smell of cigarettes. Once more Peter hesitated. "Your friends seem to be in hiding," he remarked. "Personally, I am losing my curiosity." "Guess you won't have to wait very long," the man replied, with meaning. The room was suddenly invaded on all sides. Four doors, which were quite hidden by the pattern of the wall, had opened almost simultaneously, and at least a dozen men had entered. This time both Sogrange and Peter knew that they were face to face with the real thing. These were men who came silently in, not cigarette-stunted youths. Two of them were in evening dress; three or four had the appearance of prize-fighters. In their countenances was one expression common to all--an air of quiet and conscious strength. A fair-headed man, in a dinner jacket and black tie, became at once their spokesman. He was possessed of a very slight American accent, and he beamed at them through a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. "Gentlemen," he said, "I am very glad to meet you both." "Very kind of you, I'm sure," Sogrange answered. "Our friend here," he added, indicating their guide, "found us trying to gain a little insight into the more interesting part of New York life. He was kind enough to express a wish to introduce us to you." The man smiled. He looked very much like some studious clerk, except that his voice seemed to ring with some latent power. "I am afraid," he said, "that your friend's interest in you was not entirely unselfish. For three days he has carried in his pocket an order instructing him to produce you here." "I knew it!" Peter whispered, under his breath. "You interest me," Sogrange replied. "May I know whom I have the honour of addressing?" "You can call me Burr," the man announced; "Philip Burr. Your names it is not our wish to know." "I am afraid I do not quite understand," Sogrange said. "It was scarcely to be expected that you should," Mr. Philip Burr admitted. "All I can tell you is that, in cases like yours, I really prefer not to know with whom I have to deal." "You speak as though you had business with us," Peter remarked.