corridor, and I drew back into the dark places and let them go by. They
did not remark my presence, or if they did, made nothing of it. After
all, I was a seaman, dressed as other seamen were. Why should they
notice me when there were a hundred such in Czerny's house? I began to
see that a man might go with less risk because of their numbers than if
they had been but a handful.

"I shall find Czerny, after all," said I to myself, "and have it out
with him. When he has spoken it will be time enough to ask, What next?"

It was a little consoling to say this, and I went on with more
confidence. Passing down the whole length of the corridor, I reached a
pair of iron doors at last, and found them fast shut and bolted against
me. There was no branch road that I could make out, nor any indication
of the way in which I must open the doors. A man cannot walk through
sheer iron for the asking, nor blow it open with a wish; and there I
stood in the passage like a messenger who has struck upon an empty
house, but is not willing to leave it. See Czerny that night I must,
even if it came to declaring myself to the rogues who occupied the
rooms near by, and whose voices I could still hear. I had no mind to
knock at the door; and, truth to tell, such a thing never came into my
head, so full it was of other schemes. Indeed, I was just telling
myself that it was neck or nothing, when what should happen but that
the great iron door swung open, and the little French girl, Rosamunda,
herself stepped out. Staggered at the sight of me, as well she might be
(for the electric lamp will hide no face), she just piped one pretty
little cry and then fell to saying:

"Oh, Captain Begg, Captain Begg, what do you want in this house?"

"My dear," says I, speaking to her with a seaman's liberty, "I want a
good many things, as most sailors do in this world. What's behind that
door, now, and where may you have come from? Tell me as much, and
you'll be doing me a bigger kindness than you think."

She didn't reply to this at once, but asked a question, as little girls
will when they are thinking of somebody.

"Where are the others?" cried she; "why do you come alone? Where is the
little one, Mister--Mister----"

"Dolly Venn," said I; "ah, that's the boy! Well, he's all right, my
dear, and if he'd known that we were meeting, he'd have sent his love.
You'll find him down yonder, in the cellar beyond the engine-house.
Show me the way to Mister Czerny's