THE APARTMENT
NEXT DOOR




CHAPTER I


THE FACE OF HATE

It was three o'clock in the morning. Along a deserted pavement of
Riverside Drive strode briskly a young man whose square-set shoulders
and erect poise suggested a military training. His coat, thrown
carelessly open to the cold night wind, displayed an expanse of white
indicative of evening dress. As he walked his heels clicked sharply on
the concrete with the forceful firm tread of the type which does things
quickly and decisively. The intense stillness of the early morning hours
carried the sound in little staccato beats that could be heard blocks
away. A few yards behind him, moving furtively and noiselessly, almost
as if he had been shod with rubber, crept another figure, that of a
stocky, broad-shouldered man, who despite his bulk and weight moved
silently and swiftly through the night, a soft brown hat drawn low over
his eyes as if he desired to avoid recognition.

All at once the man ahead paused suddenly and stood looking out over the
river. Between the Drive and the distance-dimmed lights of the Jersey
shore there rose like great silhouettes the grim figures of several huge