No pause, however, was made here. The negro crossed the room and opened a third door, which admitted them into a small passage. At the end of this a fourth door was opened, and Melun and Westerham stepped suddenly into a blaze of light.

Looking quickly about him, Westerham judged himself to be in a working-man's club. Half a dozen men were playing pool at a dilapidated table, while round about were little groups of men playing[Pg 57] dominoes or cards. Framed notices set forth various rules, while at one end of the room stretched a bar.

[Pg 57]

The negro, still with the light in his hand, stood aside watching Melun uneasily. Westerham was quick to observe that he had his hand on his hip-pocket. And his smile was slightly amused and slightly anxious as one of the players looked up and gave a little cry, his cue falling from his hand and his hand going quickly to his hip also.

But Melun was first, and the revolver which he had whipped out covered the man's breast.

The man's cry aroused the instant attention of the others, and for a few moments there was what can only be described as a sort of hushed hubbub.

“All right,” said Melun in a rougher voice than Westerham had yet heard him use. “All right. Don't get scared. Don't worry. It is a new chum!”

Westerham, standing very straight, stood smiling at the astonished men before him.

The negro had set his lantern down, and was passively leaning with his back against the door.

A little man with a bullet-head and a red face got up from his seat at the end of the room and came forward with short, quick, jerky steps.

“Is this going to be a meeting?” he asked.

Melun nodded. “A meeting,” he said, “but not an oath. That I already have administered in part. The new chum is silent.”

“It is most irregular,” grumbled the man with the bullet-head.

“Never you mind,” said Melun in a hectoring voice,[Pg 58] “it is my affair, and not yours.”

[Pg 58]

“It is our business that you bring him here,” mumbled several of the men.

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