"And phwat might yez be wantin', gintlemin, to be after scarin' an ould woman most to death wid yer ringin'?" she asked, somewhat aggressively.
"We want to see Mr. Chatham," replied one of the detectives.
"Mister who, is it?"
"Thomas Chatham. Show me the way to his room. I'll go right up, and my friends will wait for me here."
"Mister Thomuz Chathum, is it?" said the old woman; "well, ye've come to the wrong house to see him, I do be thinkin', fer he don't live here."
"Come, that won't do," said the detective sharply; "we belong to the police, and we saw Chatham enter this house."
At the mention of the police, the old hag's parchment face became a shade yellower and her eyes glistened.
"Sure, thin, if he do be hidin' here, it's mesilf as 'ud know it," she said after a short interval; "but yez can foind 'um, if yez loike; yez can foind 'um."
Whereupon she turned and hobbled off, leaving the intruders to their own resources.
They found themselves in a narrow hallway. On the right was a rickety staircase leading to business offices in the upper part of the building; on the left, a door opening into the office of the Manhattan Chemical Company, and at the end of the hall another door, marked,