cup of coffee and a roll, and once more mounted the stairs to the
office and opened the door to Number 15.

The place was in disorder. The books that had been arranged on the desk
and shelves were now scattered about in confusion, as though they had
been hurriedly examined and thrown aside in a fruitless search. This
was a disturbing incident, and I was surprised to discover that the
door into the adjoining room was ajar. I pushed it wide open, and
started back. Before me stood Doddridge Knapp, his face pale as the
face of a corpse, and his eyes starting as though the dead had risen
before him.




CHAPTER IX

A DAY IN THE MARKET


The King of the Street stood for a moment staring at me with that
strange and fearsome gaze. What was there in that dynamic glance that
struck a chill to my spirit as though the very fountain of life had
been attacked? Was it the manifestation of the powerful will behind
that mask? Or was it terror or anger that was to be read in the fiery
eyes that gleamed from beneath those bushy brows, and in the play of
the cruel mouth, which from under that yellow-gray mustache gave back
the sign of the Wolf?

"Have you any orders, sir?" I asked in as calm a voice as I could