wife, can be here and bothering her head about one John Craig, M.D."

"It will soon be known. You have a good description of this house which
the man supposed to be Luther Keene brought?" asks Philander, showing
unexpected business qualities; indeed, he is proving more of a wonder
to the young Chicagoan every hour.

"Yes, and can find it easily enough by the red lamp in front," he
replies.

"I see such a light along the strado."

"That is, in all probability, our destination."

They advance, and in another minute are at the door of the domicile
marked so conspicuously with a red light.

John allows himself a brief period of ecstasy as he remembers that his
mother crossed this threshold only recently, and in his eyes this
renders it holy.

Then he recovers his common sense, and is once more the wide-awake,
vigilant John Craig who met the advance of the mad dog so coolly upon
the hill road of Valetta.

"There's a knocker," says the professor.

"I'll try it," John replies, and as he swings the weight a ponderous
sound ensues, a hollow clamor that is loud enough to arouse the whole
street, John thinks.