sallied forth to Hamar's.

The solitary attic--if one could thus designate a space of about three
square feet--which comprised Hamar's lodging--had the advantage of
being situated in the top storey of a skyscraper--at least a
skyscraper for that part of the city. From its window could be seen,
high above the serried ranks of chimney-pots on the opposite side of
the street, those two newly erected buildings: William Carman's chewing
gum factory in Hearnes Street, and Mark Goddard's eight-storied
private residence in Van Ness Avenue; and, as if this were not enough
architectural grace for the eye to dwell on, glimmering away to the
right was the needle-like spire of Moss Bates's devil-dodging
establishment in Branman Street; whilst, just behind it, in saucy
mocking impudence, peeped out the gilded roof of the Knee Brothers'
recently erected Cinematograph Palace.

All this and more--much more--was to be seen from Hamar's outlook, and
all for the sum of one dollar and a half per week. When Curtis and
Kelson entered, the room was aglow with moonlight, and Hamar and the
black cat were stealthily regarding one another from opposite corners
of the room. From far away--from somewhere in the very base of the
building, came the dull echo of a shout, succeeded by the violent
slamming of a door; whilst from outside, from one of the many deserted
thoroughfares below, rose the frightened cry of a fugitive woman.
Otherwise all was comparatively still.

"You're a bit early!" was Hamar's greeting, "but better that than
late. Everything is ready, and all we've got to do is to wait till
twelve. Sit down."