last night round ten o'clock, and I relieved Mallory at nine this morning. The Dude's still inside."
"Of course he's still inside, Sergeant," said Vance, a bit impatiently.
"Where's his room situated, Guilfoyle?" asked Heath.
"Second floor, at the back."
"Right. We're going in.—Stand by."
"Look out for him," admonished Guilfoyle. "He's got a gat."
Heath took the lead up the worn steps which led from the pavement to the little vestibule. Without ringing, he roughly grasped the door-knob and shook it. The door was unlocked, and we stepped into the stuffy lower hallway.
A bedraggled woman of about forty, in a disreputable dressing-gown, and with hair hanging in strings over her shoulders, emerged suddenly from a rear door and came toward us unsteadily, her bleary eyes focused on us with menacing resentment.
"Say!" she burst out, in a rasping voice. "What do youse mean by bustin' in like this on a respectable lady?" And she launched forth upon a stream of profane epithets.
Heath, who was nearest her, placed his large hand over her face, and gave her a gentle but firm shove backward.
"You keep outa this, Cleopatra!" he advised her, and began to ascend the stairs.
The second-floor hallway was dimly lighted by a small flickering gas-jet, and at the rear we could distinguish the outlines of a single door set in the middle of the wall.
