the head porter. In a few minutes he led Peter away to one of the bars
where they usually took their cocktail.

"My friend," he announced, "to-night I have a treat for you. So far we
have looked on at the external night life of New York. Wonderful and
thrilling it has been, too. But there is the underneath, also. Why not?
There is a vast polyglot population here, full of energy said life. A
criminal class exists as a matter of course. To-night we make our bow to
it."

"And by what means?" Peter inquired.

"Our friend the hall-porter," Sogrange continued, "has given me the card
of an ex-detective who will be our escort. He calls for us to-night,
or rather to-morrow morning, at one o'clock. Then behold! the wand is
waved, the land of adventures opens before us."

Peter grunted.

"I don't want to damp your enthusiasm, my Canadian friend," he said,
"but the sort of adventures you may meet with to-night are scarcely
likely to fire your romantic nature. I know a little about what they
call this underneath world in New York. It will probably resolve itself
into a visit to Chinatown, where we shall find the usual dummies taking
opium and quite prepared to talk about it for the usual tip. After that
we shall visit a few low dancing halls, be shown the scene of several
murders, and the thing is done."

"You are a cynic," Sogrange declared. "You would throw cold water upon
any enterprise. Anyway, our detective is coming. We must make use of
him, for I have engaged to pay him twenty-five dollars."

"We'll go where you like," Peter assented, "so long as we dine on a
roof garden. This beastly fur coat keeps me in a state of chronic
perspiration."

"Never mind," Sogrange said, consolingly, "it's most effective. A roof
garden, by all means."

"And recollect," Peter insisted, "I bar Chinatown. We've both of us seen
the real thing, and there's nothing real about what they show you here."

"Chinatown is erased from our program," Sogrange agreed. "We go now to
dine. Remind me, Baron, that I inquire for those strange dishes of
which one hears Terrapin, Canvas-backed Duck, Green Corn, Strawberry
Shortcake."

Peter smiled grimly.

"How like a Frenchman," he exclaimed, "to take no account of seasons!
Never mind, Marquis, you shall give your order and I will sketch the
waiter's face. By the bye, if you're in earnest about this expedition
to-night, put your revolver into your pocket."

"But we 're going with an ex-detective," S