e gained the ladder-end. He did not
look back as he lowered himself, rung by rung. All thought of her, in
fact, had passed from his preoccupied mind. He was once more intent on
his own grim ends. He was debating with himself just how he was to get
in through that lodging-house window and what his final move would be
for the round up of his enemy. He had made use of too many "molls" in
his time to waste useless thought on what they might say or do or
desire. When he had got Binhart, he remembered, he would have to look
about for something to eat, for he was as hungry as a wolf. And he did
not even hear the girl's second soft whisper of "Good-by."

IX

That stolid practicality which had made Blake a successful operative
asserted itself in the matter of his approach to the Luiz Camoes house,
the house which had been pointed out to him as holding Binhart.

He circled promptly about to the front of that house, pressed a gold
coin in the hand of the half-caste Portuguese servant who opened the
door, and asked to be shown to the room of the English tea merchant.

That servant, had he objected, would have been promptly taken
possession of by the detective, and as promptly put in a condition
where he could do no harm, for Blake felt that he was too near the end
of his trail to be put off by any mere side issue. But the coin and
the curt explanation that the merchant must be seen at once admitted
Blake to the house.

The servant was leading him down the length of the half-lit hall when
Blake caught him by the sleeve.

"You tell my rickshaw boy to wait! Quick, before he gets away!"

Blake knew that the last door would be the one leading to Binhart's
room. The moment he was alone in the hall he tiptoed to this door and
pressed an ear against its panel. Then with his left hand, he slowly
turned the knob, caressing it with his fingers that it might not click
when the latch was released. As he had feared, it was locked.

He stood for a second or two, thinking. Then with the knuckle of one
finger he tapped on the door, lightly, almost timidly.

A man's voice from within, cried out, "Wait a minute! Wait a minute!"
But Blake, who had been examining the woodwork of the door-frame, did
not choose to wait a minute. Any such wait, he felt, would involve too
much risk. In one minute, he knew, a fugitive could either be off and
away, or could at least prepare himself for any one intercepting that
flight. So Bla