pausing and turned south on Madison Avenue. He made a complete
circuit of the block, meditating with sobering effect upon the
risk he was running. His heart was pounding violently when the
street unrolled before him for a second time. At the farther
corner, dimly discernible beneath the radiance of a street-light,
he made out the watchman, now at the end of his patrol. The moment
was propitious; there could be no further delay.

Bob reined in and leaped from his box. Merkle had the cab door
open and was hoisting Hammon from his seat.

"Have you got the key?" Bob asked, swiftly.

"Yes. Help me! He's fainted, I think."

They lifted the half-conscious man out, then with him between them
struggled up the steps; but Hammon's feet dragged; he hung very
heavy in their arms.

Merkle was not a strong man; he was panting, and his hands shook
as he fumbled with the lock. The key escaped him and tinkled upon
the stone.

"Hurry! Here comes the watchman." Bob was gazing over his shoulder
at the slowly approaching figure. The watchman had his eyes fixed
upon the old-fashioned vehicle and its dejected animal, wondering,
no doubt, what brought such an antiquated rig into this most
exclusive neighborhood. He was within a few numbers of the Hammon
house before Merkle solved the mysteries of the lock and the heavy
portals swung open. In another instant the door had closed