t was at once evident that I was not to be murdered in H. B. Blaine's place, and also evident that I had been invited to meet Apache Kid to hear some matter that was not for all to hear; for immediately on our entering the little rear room he flung aside a paper he had been reading and leaped to his feet to meet us. He put a hand on Donoghue's shoulder and the other he extended to me.
"We'll not talk here," he said. "Walls have ears:" and so we all turned about and marched out again.
"Going out for a strowl?" asked Blaine.
"Yes," said Apache. "Fine night for a strowl." And we found ourselves on the street down which we turned and walked in silence.
Suddenly Apache Kid slowed down and swore to himself.
"I should n't have said that!" he remarked angrily.
"Said what?" Donoghue interrogated.
"O! mocked Blaine like that—said we were going for a strowl."
"What do you mean?" asked Donoghue, whose ear did not seem very acute.
Apache looked at him with a relieved expression.