CHAPTER II

A CRY FOR HELP


I hastily closed and locked the door. It shut out at least the eyes and
ears that, to my excited imagination, lurked in the dark corners and
half-hidden doorways of the dimly-lighted hall. And as I turned back to
the room my heart was heavy with bitter regret that I had ever left my
home.

This was not at all what I had looked for when I started for the Golden
Gate at my friend's offer of a "good place and a chance to get rich."

Then I rallied my spirits with something of resolution, and shamed
myself with the reproach that I should fear to share any danger that
Henry was ready to face. Wearied as I was with travel, I was too much
excited for sleep. Reading was equally impossible. I scarcely glanced
at the shelf of books that hung on the wall, and turned to a study of
my surroundings.

The room was on the corner, as I have said, and I threw up the sash of
the west window and looked out over a tangle of old buildings,
ramshackle sheds, and an alley that appeared to lead nowhere. A wooden
shutter swung from the frame-post of the window, reaching nearly to a
crazy wooden stair that led from the black depths below. There were