In a very few moments the green countryman who had struck such effective blows in the pool-room stepped into the lighted hall above, and tapped cautiously at the door.
“Any game goin’ on?” he said, as the wicket in the door was opened and a black face peered out upon him.
The door was softly opened, and Nick stepped into a small, half-lighted hallway.
“Guess you nebber bin heah befo’, boss,” said the negro, with a grin.
“No,” said Nick, “I’m from Grand Rapids, Michigan. I thought I’d like to look around.”
“Well, you go right in dat door,” said the darky, pointing to one at the end of the hall.
Nick had been in the place many times, and he knew it to be one of the toughest gambling houses in town.
In fact, it was just the sort of place for crooked work of all kinds to be planned.
The apartment into which he had been shown was but a small part of the den.
The rooms in which the schemes were hatched, and where the gamblers spent[{27}] their leisure hours, opened from the opposite end of the hall.