The young man led Mr. Cary down Twenty-eighth Street to Lexington Avenue, and, turning the corner, hurried him into a nearby doorway.
“I do not disbelieve you, Mr. Cary, but I am going to be satisfied.”
They stood there a while. Evidently satisfied that they were not followed, he motioned for Mr. Cary to follow him.
Their way now was to a rather plain house at the other end of the block.
Reaching it, they mounted the steps, the young man tapping at the door. It was opened immediately, and the young man motioned for Mr. Cary to enter.
Then he followed, closing the door after him.
“Enter the parlor, Mr. Cary,” he said, “and I will call the one you came to see.”
He disappeared, running up the stairs.
Mr. Cary had a long time to think over the wisdom or unwisdom of his step in again putting himself in the power of the woman who had, the night previous, played him such a scurvy trick.
For one who wanted to see him so badly as she had written, the Brown Robin was slow in making her appearance.