There was the number in bright silver numerals, but nothing was to be seen of any name.
"Most of them have a name," he said to himself. "I wonder who lives here?"
Hal descended again to the street, and walked on to the end of the block.
Here was a small stand with a flaring gasoline torch, at which an old German was selling apples and other fruit.
Hal entered into conversation with the proprietor of the stand, and at length asked if he knew who lived at the place, mentioning the number.
"Dot blace?" The man gave a low laugh. "I dinks me nopody vos lif dere."
"Nobody?"
"Nein."
"But there must be somebody," urged Hal. "I saw a man go in."
"Dot's so, too." The German laughed again. "But da don't vos lif dere."