Darrell remembered what Joe had said—he had long since despaired of renting the house, and probably did not try very hard.
Then again about his income—no wonder he did not know how he stood if he had to keep two separate establishments running.
They might do that economically out in Salt Lake City among the Mormons but it is quite an expensive luxury in New York.
So the detective made his way down to Twenty-third Street and entering a dairy kitchen where a thousand were being served to the music of an orchestra, had his dinner.
He took his time over it, read the evening paper, and when he finally passed out it was well on to eight o’clock.
Then he smoked a cigar and watched the passers by for half an hour more.
Then he sauntered away.
At nine o’clock he found himself one of a little crowd gathered at the door of a hall.
A masquerade was to take place here, and as carriage after carriage drove up, depositing nymphs and devils, cavaliers and knights, upon the pavement, the crowd laughed in a good-natured way.
Some of the rougher element might have indulged in jeers or remarks that would have brought on trouble, but for their fear of the law, which was represented by two stalwart policemen, armed with their long night sticks which are a dread to the heathen of the slums.