"Good!" the lad exclaimed. "I thought as much. I didn't believe they would take too many chances. A stranger might get in and betray them."
For the little piece of cloth the lad had taken from the pocket of his newly acquired apparel was a black mask.
"Now," said the boy to himself, "to see if I cannot find out who I am supposed to be."
He continued the search of the pockets. Several pieces of paper and one or two documents he glanced at hurriedly, and restored. Finally he drew out a paper that seemed to please him, for his face lighted up with a smile. He glanced at the slip of paper and read aloud:
"This is to certify that the bearer is an accredited agent of the
One King."
At the bottom was a seal of peculiar design, but there was no signature.
"Evidently," said the lad, "members of this gang are not known to one another, at least all of them. They may spot me and they may not. However, I've got to take a chance. Nothing risked, nothing gained."
The lad stepped quickly from his place of concealment and approached where the man he had followed had turned in more than an hour before. He descended the steps into the basement and knocked upon the door—once loudly, three times softly, and once loudly again.
The door swung open before him, and a masked man peered out. Taking a deep breath, and feeling in his pocket to make sure that his revolver was in readiness, the lad stepped inside. The door swung to behind him.
Chester followed the man who had opened the door down a dark hallway, and into a dimly lighted room. Masked as he was, the boy had little fear of being discovered, but his hand rested on his automatic in his right-hand coat pocket.