lights here and there in the back rooms. Snatches of drunken song and
rude jest came up from an unseen doggery, and vile odors came with
them. Shadows seemed to move here and there among the dark places, but
in the uncertain light I could not be sure whether they were men, or
only boxes and barrels.

Some sound of a drunken quarrel drew my attention to the north window,
and I looked out into the alley. The lights from Montgomery Street
scarcely gave shape to the gloom below the window, but I could
distinguish three or four men near the side entrance of a saloon. They
appeared quiet enough. The quarrel, if any there was, must be inside
the saloon. After an interval of comparative silence, the noise rose
again. There were shouts and curses, sounds as of a chair broken and
tables upset, and one protesting, struggling inebriate was hurled out
from the front door and left, with threats and foul language, to
collect himself from the pavement.

This edifying incident, which was explained to me solely by sound, had
scarcely come to an end when a noise of creaking boards drew my eyes to
the other window. The shutter suddenly flew around, and a human figure
swung in at the open casing. Astonishment at this singular proceeding
did not dull the instinct of self-defense. The survey of my
surroundings and the incident of the bar-room row had in a measure
prepared me for any desperate doings, and I had swung a chair ready to
strike a blow before I had time to think.

"S-h-h!" came the warning whisper, and I recognized my supposed robber.
It was Henry.

His clothes and hair were disordered, and his face and hands were grimy