mind controlled the mysteries of the "Valkyrie" saloon and 192
Layte Street, its sedate neighbor.

The particular use of the "fake" millinery repository, the hidden
life of the upper floors of the old mansion, were only known to
the man whom Emil Einstein feared to meet in anger.

But in the Devil's auction of the corner building, man, woman and
child were knocked down to the highest bidder, for the hell-minted
price of human souls.

Gambler, crook and thief; wanton, decoy and badger; racing tout,
fugitive, smuggler, and counterfeiter; lottery sharp and green-goods
man, all welcomed the white, red and blue lights gleaming over the
"Valkyrie" saloon as the harbor-lights of their safe port in any
storm.

"I have it," muttered Einstein, as he boldly threw open the swinging
half door of the "Valkyrie." Shading his eyes in the flood of
garish light, he gazed around at the twenty round tables. Six alert
barkeepers lurked in front of the superb mirrors behind the rich
walnut counters gleaming with crystal and silver.

The music of the Orchestrion bore away on its flood of Strauss
waltzes the shrill chatter of women's laughter in the inside hell
of the private rooms.

Opening doors admitted fragments of poker gabble as the white-aproned
waiters rushed around with their trays of drinks.