“Well, then, you must understand that this is not the place for a conference. I rather think you will suit my purpose. So, if you will accompany me, I will take you where you can enjoy both warmth and food. Then we can talk over this business. Follow me.”
Bandy-legged Bill strode onward.
He and his companion threaded their way through a number of streets, through which the winter’s blast howled dismally.
Nothing can be more desolate than the deserted streets of a great city at midnight.
The busy thoroughfares are as silent as the grave, and every house seems a tomb enclosing some tremendous secret.
What if, in the silent hours of the night, the walls of the dwellings should suddenly become transparent, revealing all that might be passing inside?
What astounding disclosures would be made!
Imagination shrinks from the picture, appalled.
“Here we are,” said the gipsy’s companion, pausing before a house of handsome exterior, and leading the way down into the basement.
Over one of the windows of this basement was a gilded sign, bearing the name “Doctor Bourne.”