He left the ship-chandler’s and hurried up South Street. Diligently he studied the moving crowd ahead of him. Nowhere could he see any one that resembled either the bargemen or the Secret Service man. Willie felt certain that the latter would be not far from the former. He was equally confident of his own ability to recognize the place the bargemen had entered. He cast about in his mind for possible ways to help Sheridan. Presently he became so excited that he found himself running. At once he took a grip on himself. “This won’t do,” he muttered. “Above all things you must not do anything to attract attention to yourself. If you are going to be of any use to Sheridan, you’ll have to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible.” At once Willie dropped to a walk and became a cipher in the mass of people moving along the sidewalk. Before it seemed possible, he reached the building into which he was sure the bargemen had disappeared. He knew it by its wooden awning and peculiar dormer-windows. Something about the place made it seem sinister and forbidding. The building was badly battered, as though it had had hard usage at the hands of hard men. Heavy curtains hung inside the lower sash of each window, as though to conceal something questionable within. If Willie was right, the bargemen were within this building. Possibly Sheridan was also, though it was quite as likely he might merely be in the neighborhood, keeping watch until the bargemen should come out. So Willie began to scout around for Sheridan. He looked in every likely place he could think of—every accessible place from which a man could see the door of the suspected house and not be easily seen himself. But nowhere could Willie find a trace of Sheridan. “He’s in that house,” said Willie to himself. “He wants to do more than merely follow those fellows. He wants to hear what they say. It’s up to me to go in and give him the message.” But here was a difficulty. How should he go about it? He might much better not deliver the message than do anything that would draw attention to Sheridan or possibly put him in danger. Willie had no idea what sort of a place this building was. There was no sign outside to tell him, or rather the sign was so old and weather-beaten as to be actually undecipherable. It might be a private house, or a store, or a saloon, even though saloons were no longer supposed to exist. Or it might be a club or a shop or any one of a hundred things. Suppose he went in and did not see Sheridan? What was he to do? He mustn’t ask for him. That would give the whole thing away. And then there were his own clothes to be considered. If he went into a place like this tough looking house before him, dressed as he was now, with his shoes shined and his trousers creased, he would instantly attract attention. He must find some way out of the difficulty.