enemies, but where also were many warm friends.




CHAPTER XIV

THE MYSTERY OF THE CHICAGO RIVER


Johnny Thompson dodged around a corner on West Ohio street, then walked
hurriedly down Wells street. At a corner of the building which shadowed
the river from the north he paused and listened; then with a quick
wrench, he tore a door open, closed it hastily and silently, and was up
the dusty stairs like a flash. At the top he waited and listened, then
turning, made his way up two other flights, walked down a dark corridor,
turned a key in a lock, threw the door open, closed it after him,
scratched a match, lighted a gas lamp, then uttered a low "Whew!" at the
dust that had accumulated everywhere.

Brushing off a chair, he sat down. For a few moments he sat there in
silent reflection. Then rising, he extinguished the light, threw up the
sash, unhooked some outer iron shutters, sent them jangling against the
brick wall, and drawing his chair to the window, stared reflectively
down into the sullen, murky waters of the river. At last he was back in
Chicago!

The time had been when the fact that Johnny Thompson occupied this room
was no secret to anyone who really wanted to know. Johnny had roomed
here when he first came to Chicago as a boy, working for six dollars a