He followed the course that the first man had taken; but he ascended the stairs with amazing speed and remarkable silence. Two steps at a time he went, one hand on the banister taking part of the burden, he almost vaulted upward. But the strangely gangling figure of the first man was lost in the shadows.
The third floor of the building was darker. When the short, pursuing man arrived there, he stopped at the end of the stairway. His keen ears heard the click of metal. The first man was unlocking a door at the side of the hallway.
Swiftly, the pursuing man advanced through the darkness, keeping against the wall, and moving with his previous stealth. Within a few seconds, he stood only an arm’s length from the tall man at the door. He heard the tall man’s tense, hissing breaths, but the pursuer gave no sign of his own presence.
The door opened inward. The tall man remained motionless in the darkness. He was listening for sounds from downstairs, totally unknowing that a living person stood within a yard of him. Not satisfied, he tiptoed toward the stairway to listen, almost brushing against the hidden man as he went by. After a momentary pause, the tall man returned along the hall. He walked with reassurance. By this time, the short man who had followed him had gone in through the open door.
The tall man closed the door behind him and fumbled for a light switch. A click, and the room was flooded with light. He was in a small, but comfortable, sitting room of a third-story apartment. The tall man seemed confident in the security of his own abode.
He removed his hat, revealing a head covered with black, gray-streaked hair. He drew the muffler from his neck, disclosing the face of a man of fifty. He doffed his coat and placed it on a chair.
There was a mirror at the far side of the room. The tall man stood in front of it and studied his own features. They were well formed except for the chin, which was long and pointed.
The man rubbed his chin reflectively. Then he placed his hands upon his temples to hide the streaks of gray hair. He seemed pleased with his appearance while he held his hands in that position — pleased, despite the worried, haggard expression which dominated his countenance.
OUTSIDE, a driving wind swept around the old house. In the room on the third floor, the windows, one on each side of the mirror, rattled dismally. But that sound did not disturb the man who was engrossed in his own reflection.
He evidently regarded this apartment of the old house on East Eightieth Street as a sanctuary, in which nothing could harm him.