Presently we turned into a wide and less poverty-stricken street, which I felt sure we could have reached by a less tortuous and malodorous path. A few yards down we came to a dark porte cochere. The dwarf halted, crossed, so as to read the number by the gas lamp, and joining me, said:
“It is here. Have you your visiting-cards ready?”
I nodded. We proceeded down the dark entry till we came to a slovenly, ill-kept glass box lit by a small gas jet, whence emerged a slovenly, ill-kept man. This was the concierge. Anastasius addressed a remark to him which I did not catch.
“Au fond de la cour, troisieme a gauche,” said the concierge.
As yet there seemed to be nothing peculiarly perilous about the adventure. We crossed the cobble-paved courtyard and mounted an evil-smelling stone staircase, blackened here and there by the occasional gas jets. On the third landing we halted. Anastasius put up his hand and gripped mine.
“Two strong men together,” said he, “need fear nothing.”
I confess my only fear was lest the confounded revolver which swung insecurely in my hip-pocket might go off of its own accord. I did not mention this to my companion. He raised his hat, wiped his brow, and rang the bell.
The door opened about six inches, and a man's dark-moustachioed face appeared.
“Vous desirez, Messieurs?”
As I had not the remotest idea what we desired, I let Anastasius be spokesman.