The quarters were over a saloon in Second Avenue. The entrance was a hallway and a stairway back of the saloon. Here Irwin rang a bell, which was immediately answered by a man in his shirt-sleeves.
"Mr. Quirk upstairs?"
"No," said the man. He eyed the questioner sullenly in the twilight of the hall. "I don't think he is," he added.
Irwin took a card from his pocket. He placed it in a blank envelope, sealed the envelope, and handed it to the doorkeeper.
"Give him this," he said, and stepped back into the street to wait.
The man closed the door upon him. It was presently reopened by Quirk, his round face smiling, his manner jovial.
"Hello," said Quirk. "It's time good little boys were in bed, but I'm glad to see you, anyhow. Come in and have a drink."
"No, thank you," Irwin replied. "I'll be back here in two hours. There's something you've got to do in the meantime."
"Me? Now?"
"You; right away. We've been too slow about that little business, Quirk. We can't stand them off much longer. There's not much more time for delay, and the people higher up want to be shown action."