"What kind of place would it be?" Sogrange asked.
The new-comer drew them on one side, although, as a matter of fact, everyone else had melted away.
"Have you ever heard of the secret societies of New York?" he inquired. "Well, I guess you haven't, anyway—not to know anything about them. Well, then, listen. There's a society meets within a few steps of here, which has more to do with regulating the criminal classes of the city than any police establishment. There'll be a man there within an hour or so who, to my knowledge, has committed seven murders. The police can't get him. They never will. He's under our protection."
"May we visit such a place as you describe without danger?" Peter asked calmly.
"No!" the man answered. "There's danger in going anywhere, it seems to me, if it's worth while. So long as you keep a still tongue in your head and don't look about you too much, there's nothing will happen to you. If you get gassing a lot, you might tumble in for almost anything. Don't come unless you like. It's a chance for you, as you're a writer, but you'd best keep out of it if you're in any way nervous."
"You said it was quite close?" Sogrange inquired.
"Within a yard or two," the man replied. "It's right this way."
They left the hall with their new escort. When they looked for their motor-car, they found it had gone.
"It don't do to keep them things waiting about round here," their new friend remarked, carelessly. "I guess I'll send you back to your hotel all right. Step this way."
"By the by, what street is this we are in?" Peter asked.