IN A DANGEROUS PLACE.
Hal felt that his situation was a delicate one, and that he must go slow. Were it discovered that he had entered the den of vice merely for the purpose of spying, it might go hard with him.
The negro waved his hand toward the thickly carpeted stairway, and Hal ascended to the second floor of the mansion.
He looked behind to see if the negro had followed, but that burly individual had disappeared.
The upper hall-way was as dark as below, but from under several doors a bright light was streaming.
Hal approached the first one he came to, and, removing his hat, tried the handle.
The door came open, and Hal peered into the apartment.
No one was present, but a young man asleep in an arm-chair, and Hal stepped inside.
The room was gorgeously furnished, costly rugs covering the floor, and heavy curtains hanging over the doors. On the walls were beautiful paintings, and on a stand to one side of the room rested a remarkable piece of statuary representing three jolly gamblers at the gaming-table.
"It must be some sort of a waiting-room," thought Hal. "I wonder who the fellow asleep in the chair is?"
He gave a slight cough, and the young man slowly opened his eyes.
"Did anybody call me?" he asked, in a heavy tone.
"Where is the playing-room, please?" asked Hal.
"Eh? playing-room?" repeated the young man. "Go right in the next room."
He pointed with his finger, and bowing, Hal did as directed.
The sight that met Hal's eyes as he opened the door filled the youth with wonder. He had often heard of such places, but he had never dreamed of them being as they are. He saw a long hall, brilliantly lighted. Crowded about the table, some standing and some sitting, were young men and old, all intent on the games that were going on.
The table was piled with money, which seemed to change hands rapidly, for the resort was a well-known one among club men.
"What do you make it?"
"A twenty, Charley."
Hal recognized the last voice. It was that of Mr. Caleb Allen!
The boy looked at the man. There was an excited appearance upon the broker's features.
"He looks as if he has been losing," thought Hal. "I wonder how much he has staked?"
No one appeared to notice his coming, and he stood just back of the crowd, taking in everything so far as it concerned Allen.
The game went on, and Allen lost. Then the broker played once more, and lost again.
"A hundred this time," he said.
The broker played with extreme caution, as indeed did all of the others. In consequence the game lasted fully quarter of an hour.
Hal saw by the broker's actions that the game was going against the man, and he was not surprised, when the play ended, to hear that Allen had lost.
Allen turned away from the table. As he did so he came face to face with Hal. He started back, and gave the youth a keen look.
"Where have I met that fellow before?" he muttered to himself.
He had not recognized Hal with the false mustache.
The game went on, but Allen took no more interest, and soon disappeared from the room.
Hal was about to follow, when a tall man stepped up to him, and tapped him on the shoulder.
"I want to have a talk with you, my friend," he said, in a low tone. "Come this way, please."
Somewhat astonished, the youth followed the man into a side apartment.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I want to know what your game is," was the cool response. "You haven't put up a cent, and that mustache of yours is false. I have an idea you are a spy."