to Doddridge Knapp's door. Doddridge Knapp's house fronted upper Pine
Street much as Doddridge Knapp himself fronted lower Pine Street. There
was a calmly aggressive look about it that was typical of the owner. It
defied the elements with easy strength, as Doddridge Knapp defied the
storms of the market. I had the fancy that even if the directory had
not given me its position I might have picked it out from its neighbors
by its individuality, its impression of reserve force.

I had something of trepidation, after all, as I rang the bell, for I
was far from being sure that Doddridge Knapp was above carrying out his
desperate purposes in his own house, and I wondered whether I should
ever come out again, once I was behind those massive doors. I had taken
the precaution to find a smaller revolver, "suitable for an evening
call," as I assured myself, but it did not look to be much of a
protection in case the house held a dozen ruffians of the Terrill
brand. However, I must risk it. I gave my name to the servant who
opened the door.

"This way," he said quietly.

I had hardly time as I passed to note the large hall, the handsome
staircase, and the wide parlors that hung rich with drapery, but in
darkness. I was led beyond and behind them, and in a moment was ushered
into a small, plainly-furnished room; and at a desk covered with papers
sat Doddridge Knapp, the picture of the Wolf in his den.

"Sit down, Wilton," said he with grim affability, giving his hand. "You
won't mind if an old man doesn't get up."

I made some conventional reply.