"I don't think I'd better go," said the messenger dubiously. "He didn't
say anything about it, and you know he's rather--"

"Well, I order it," I cut in decisively. "I may need you."

I certainly needed him at that moment if I was to find my way.

"Go ahead a few steps," I said.

My tone and manner impressed him, and he went without another word. I
sauntered after him with as careless an air as I could assume. My heart
was beating fast. I felt that I was close to the mystery and that the
next half-hour would determine whether I was to take up Henry Wilton's
work or to find my way in safety back to my own name and person.

My unconscious guide led the way along Montgomery Street into an office
building, up a flight of stairs, and into a back hallway.

"Stay a moment," I said, as he had his hand on the door knob. "On
second thoughts you can wait down stairs."

He turned back, and as his footsteps echoed down the stair I opened the
door and entered the office.

As I crossed the threshold my heart gave a great bound, and I stopped
short. Before me sat Doddridge Knapp, the King of the Street, the man
for whom above all others in the world I felt loathing and fear.

Doddridge Knapp finished signing his name to a paper on his desk before