It was after six o'clock. The place was closed for the night and seemed quite deserted. One of the men rang the bell. The tinkling echoes died away, but no sign of life manifested itself from within. Then he seized the pull and plied it again repeatedly and vigorously. "That will do," observed Sturgis presently; "the old woman is coming as fast as she can." "What old woman?" asked the detective. "I don't know. Perhaps I ought to have said an old woman. I hear her hobbling on the stairs." The detective placed his ear to the keyhole. After listening attentively, he turned to the reporter with an incredulous smile. "Well, Mr. Sturgis," said he, "if you can hear anything in there, your ears are sharper than mine. That's all I can say." "She is on the second flight," replied the reporter quietly. "Now she is in the second-story hall,--and now you can surely hear her coming down the last flight." By this time, sure enough, the sound of footsteps began to be audible to the other three men; and presently the door opened and disclosed the scared face of an old Irish woman. "And phwat might yez be wantin', gintlemin, to be after scarin' an ould woman most to death wid yer ringin'?" she asked, somewhat aggressively. "We want to see Mr. Chatham," replied one of the detectives. "Mister who, is it?" "Thomas Chatham. Show me the way to his room. I'll go right up, and my friends will wait for me here." "Mister Thomuz Chathum, is it?" said the old woman; "well, ye've come to the wrong house to see him, I do be thinkin', fer he don't live here." "Come, that won't do," said the detective sharply; "we belong to the police, and we saw Chatham enter this house." At the mention of the police, the old hag's parchment face became a shade yellower and her eyes glistened. "Sure, thin, if he do be hidin' here, it's mesilf as 'ud know it," she said after a short interval; "but yez can foind 'um, if yez loike; yez can foind 'um." Whereupon she turned and hobbled off, leaving the intruders to their own resources. They found themselves in a narrow hallway. On the right was a rickety staircase leading to business offices in the upper part of the building; on the left, a door opening into the office of the Manhattan Chemical Company, and at the end of the hall another door, marked, PRIVATE OFFICE NO ADMITTANCE. One of the detectives tried this door and found it locked. Whereupon he placed his shoulder to it and prepared to force it in. "Wait a minute," said Sturgis; "let me see if I cannot open it." The detective stepped aside with a quizzical expression upon his face. "I guess you will find it pretty solid for your weight," said he. The reporter took from his pocket a piece of bent wire, and, with a few dexterous turns of the wrist, he shot the bolt of the lock.