not alone upon the stairway. Somebody was on the stoop before the
house next door.

Mrs. Meagher's establishment was housed in the half of a three-story
structure. All of the houses of the block were thus built in pairs.
Only a balustrade separated their front steps.

Now Martin knew the house next door was vacant. Even in the darkness,
he could discern the real estate agent's sign in the front window.
Hence his surprise in beholding a man pressing the doorbell of the
empty house--for that, he discerned, was what the person who sneezed
was doing.

"For whom are you looking?" called Martin. "That house is empty.
Don't you see the sign!"

Without a word, the man turned and ran lightly down the steps, and set
off at a smart pace down the street. Martin noticed the fellow wore a
long gray overcoat and cap, and that he seemed remarkably light upon
his feet.

"Queer," thought Martin. "Didn't seem drunk. Maybe a tramp looking
for lodgings. Didn't look like a tramp, though."

And then, as he set out for the corner and the street-car, the incident
slipped from his mind.

No street-car was in sight, and Martin withdrew to the friendly lee of
the House of Feiglebaum to await its coming. Here, pressed against the
window, he was sheltered from the wind that swept around the corner.

The front of the House of Feiglebaum was at that hour dark, but a few
yards distant a light blazed over the entrance to the other and more
profitable part of Feiglebaum's business. Johnny Feiglebaum was part
of an industry indigenous to San Francisco--he kept a combination
grocery store and saloon, the latter a quiet place that was stranger to
mixed drinks and hilarity. It was sort of a neighborhood rendezvous;
most of the henpecked husbands of the district sought haven there, and
surcease of care with cribbage and pale beer.

Martin debated whether or not to enter and join in a game with one of
this subdued brotherhood; he had two hours, almost, to spend ere he was
due at the Black Cruiser. He decided against it as being too mild a
pastime for his mood. He felt fit for adventure, this night.

An extra keen gust of wind swept around the corner and invaded Martin's
refuge. He shrank back into the dark doorway in search of a warmer
retreat. He backed against something soft, something alive. He swung
about with words of apology on his tongue for the prior occupant of the
shelter.

His startled gaze encountered a broad back. A