"Joinin' th' Elks?" asked the boy, when they were well under way once more.
"No, it's a séance. They are going to call up my fate round a table."
"Huh? Aw, go-wan! Dey don't call up no ghosts wit' French cider and hot boids." The boy relapsed into silence.
Hillard tried to follow the turns of the carriage, but these were too many; and so he resigned himself to become totally lost. By and by the carriage stopped.
"Dis is where we alights, me loid!" the boy jeered. "An' no lookin', mind."
Hillard found the carriage steps and landed safely. He stood for a moment, listening. They were in a quiet part of the city; no elevated or surface cars were near. He was assured that the location was exclusive. Garrets are not to be found in quiet places.
"Look out fer th' steps," said the boy, again taking Hillard by the hand.
"And you be careful of that basket."
"I ain't lettin' it drop any."
Winding steps, thought the blindfolded man. He could recollect none. It seemed to him that they stood there five minutes before the door opened. When it did, the boy passed in the basket and resolutely pushed Hillard into the hall. The door closed gently, and the adventure was begun. Whither would it lead him?