"Even the stairs," he muttered. "They creaked like blazes. This must be an old place, all right. Sounded funny, though. Wouldn't have thought that I could have made all that noise coming up. Sounded like somebody was with me! Could have been, too, in all that darkness."
He went to his grip and brought out a bottle. He took a long drink. Then he went back to the chair.
Three taps on the door. Cronin started. He gripped the arms of the chair for a moment. Then he laughed.
"Wally," he said. "Only Wally."
He unlocked the door and opened it, stepping back quickly. His henchman, Wally, looked at him, and Cronin was momentarily startled by the long shadow that was silhouetted upon the floor. Then he laughed again. He turned and walked back toward the window. Wally followed him.
Steve Cronin turned suddenly. He saw the door still open. He stepped rapidly across the room to close and lock it.
"What's the idea, Wally?" he demanded. "You ought to have enough sense to close a door in back of you."
Wally stared in surprise.
"What's the matter, Steve?" he asked. "You look kind o' queer to-night. Sort o' pale, ain't you? What's up?"
"Nothing," growled Cronin as he sat in the chair by the window. He lighted a cigarette.