"That's all," he replied with a nod of dismissal. "Maybe it's to-
morrow--maybe it's next month."

And I walked out into Montgomery Street, bewildered among the
conflicting mysteries in which I had been entangled.




CHAPTER VI

A NIGHT AT BORTON'S


Room 15 was a plain, comfortable office in a plain, comfortable
building on Clay Street, not far from the heart of the business
district. It was on the second floor, and its one window opened to the
rear, and faced a desolate assortment of back yards, rear walls, and
rickety stairways. The floor had a worn carpet, and there was a desk, a
few chairs and a shelf of law books. The place looked as though it had
belonged to a lawyer in reduced circumstances, and I could but wonder
how it had come into the possession of Doddridge Knapp, and what had
become of its former occupant.

I tried to thrust aside a spirit of melancholy, and looked narrowly to
the opportunities offered by the room for attack and defense. The walls
were solidly built. The window-casement showed an unusual depth for a
building of that height. The wall had been put in to withstand an
earthquake shock. The door opening into the hall, the door into Room
16, and the window furnished the three avenues of possible attack or