And I was beginning to get a chill from my Achilles tendon up. I suddenly remembered that I was ignorant of both the street and the number of the house that I had entered. But I decided to sit tight, and see the game out, whatever it might prove to be.

"This way," said the little old man at my side, swinging open a door.

I let him go first. I had my second wind of courage by this time, and somewhere just behind my frontal bone curiosity was burning like a head-light. I even forgot about being hungry. For a stronger appetite had asserted itself. I could hear the lights being switched on. And I was able to smile as I stepped into the room.

The ferrety little eyes regarded me with a sort of studious satisfaction.

"You've got grit," announced my guide, rubbing his bony old hands together.

"Sure I've got grit," I calmly acknowledged, "or I wouldn't fall for a Black Hand frame-up like this!"

He chuckled and wheezed at that speech of mine. But there was no mirth in his laugh.

"My dear young lady, this is anything but what