"Barry!" roared Hamersley, leaping at him. "For Pete’s sake, come and put us wise! I put Shrimp on the trail of a man who was asking me all about you, and he comes back with a weird tale of a girl kidnaped by a bunch and kept a prisoner in a boarding house down on West Eleventh Street, near Sixth——" "West Eleventh!" exclaimed Lawrence triumphantly. "By Jove! You’ve hit it right. Come on—both of you. There isn’t a minute to lose. I’ll tell you the rest in the taxi." He turned and hurried out of the room, followed by Hamersley, and, more slowly, by Shrimp Bradley, who had paused to secure the remaining sandwiches. Issuing hastily from the club, Barry told the driver to take them to the corner of Sixth Avenue and Eleventh Street, and they all piled in and slammed the door behind them. During the hurried ride downtown they exchanged stories briefly, so that when they reached their destination they were ready to act. In half a minute Bradley had led the way to the house, and Lawrence swiftly took in its salient features. It was an ordinary-looking, four-storied brownstone dwelling, a little gone to seed, perhaps, which accounted for the sign displayed in a lower window. The room on the second floor front was brightly lighted, but the shades were pulled down. All the other windows were dark. In that instant Barry had made up his mind. "I’m going in if I can get in, fellows," he said abruptly. "Hadn’t you better wait——" began Bradley. But Lawrence cut him short. "Not if I know it!" he exclaimed. "I’ve waited too long already. I’m going in! See if you can find a cop, Shrimp. Jock, will you watch the house?" Before the others could realize what was happening, he had raced up the steps and grasped the doorknob firmly. To the intense surprise of his two companions, the door yielded to his touch, and a second later he had disappeared, leaving them staring dazedly at each other. "There’s something queer about this!" Hamersley burst out the next instant. "I don’t like the looks of it a little bit." Bounding up the steps, he seized the knob and twisted it, flinging his whole weight against the door. It held fast. He tried again with the same result, then turned a serious face toward Bradley. "Beat it, Shrimp!" he said hurriedly. "Get a cop, quick! It’s a trap, that’s what it is!" *CHAPTER XLI.* *AT CROSS-PURPOSES.* As the door swung into place behind him, with the unmistakable click of a spring lock, Lawrence stood there, every nerve tense, glancing swiftly around into the shadows, half expecting an attack of some sort. The hall was lighted by a single gas jet turned down to the tiniest spark, and for a moment he thought himself alone. Then, with a suppressed start, he realized that a tall, slim, smooth-shaven man stood silently by the portières of a double door, watching him with cool, level, dark eyes.