At last, to Calton's relief, for he felt somewhat bewildered by the darkness and narrowness of the lanes through which he had been taken, the detective stopped before a door, which he opened, and stepping inside, beckoned to the barrister to follow. Calton did so, and found himself in a low, dark, ill-smelling passage. At the end a faint light glimmered. Kilsip caught his companion by the arm and guided him carefully along the passage. There was much need of this caution, for Calton could feel that the rotten boards were full of holes, into which one or the other of his feet kept slipping from time to time, while he could hear the rats squeaking and scampering away on all sides. Just as they got to the end of this tunnel, for it could be called nothing else, the light suddenly went out, and they were left in complete darkness. "Light that," cried the detective in a peremptory tone of voice. "What do you mean by dowsing the glim?" Thieves' argot was, evidently, well understood here, for there was a shuffle in the dark, a muttered voice, and someone lit a candle. Calton saw that the light was held by an elfish-looking child. Tangled masses of black hair hung over her scowling white face. As she crouched down on the floor against the damp wall she looked up defiantly yet fearfully at the detective. "Where's Mother Guttersnipe?" asked Kilsip, touching her with his foot. She seemed to resent the indignity, and rose quickly to her feet. "Upstairs," she replied, jerking her head in the direction of the right wall. Following her direction, Calton--his eyes now somewhat accustomed to the gloom--could discern a gaping black chasm, which he presumed was the stair alluded to. "Yer won't get much out of 'er to-night; she's a-going to start 'er booze, she is." "Never mind what she's doing or about to do," said Kilsip, sharply, "take me to her at once."