I went on my way deep in thought. I considered it a stroke of luck that I had fallen in with Chris Holtzmann's former clerk. No doubt the man knew much that would prove of value to me.
I doubted if this man was perfectly honest. I was satisfied that the concert-hall manager had had good grounds for discharging him. But it often "takes a rogue to catch a rogue," and I was willing to profit by any advantage that came to hand.
At length I reached the next corner. On it stood a splendid building of marble, having over the door in raised letters:&—
CHRIS HOLTZMANN'S
PALACE OF PLEASURE.
Open all the Time. Admission Free!
For a moment I hesitated. Should I enter such a hole of iniquity?
Then came the thought of my mission; how I wished to clear the family name from the stain that rested upon it and free my father from imprisonment, and I went in.
I do not care to describe the scene that met my eyes. The magnificent decorations of the place were to my mind entirely out of keeping with its character. The foulness of a subcellar would have been more appropriate.
In the back, where a stage was located, were a number of small tables. I sat down at one of these and had a waiter bring me a glass of soda water.
"Is Mr. Holtzmann about?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. There he is over by the cigar counter. Shall I call him?"