was
fretful with his teething, and on Sunday nights, when the woman was
wanted downstairs, she just put the poor darling to bed and locked the
room. If you lived next door, you could hear his crying through the wall.

"Agatha," said John, as they stepped up to the door, "get us both into
this house as best you can, then leave the rest to me.--Don, lie close!"

Aggie tapped at the door. A little slide in it was run back and a voice
said, "Who's there?"

"Aggie," the girl answered.

"Who's that with you?"

"A friend of Charlie's," and then the door was opened.

John crossed the threshold first, the dog followed him, the girl entered
last. When the door had closed behind them, the doorkeeper, a young man
holding a candle in his hand, was staring at John with his whole face
open.

"Hush! Not a word!--Don, watch that man!"

The young man looked at the dog and turned pale.

"Where is Mrs. Sharkey?"

"Downstairs, sir."

There were sounds of men's voices from below, and from above there came
the convulsive sobs of a child, deadened as by a door between.

"Give me your candle."

The man gave it.

"Don't speak or stir, or else----"

John glanced at the dog, and the man trembled.

"Come upstairs, child," and the girl followed him to the upper floor.

On reaching the room in which the baby was crying they tried the door. It
was locked. John attempted to force it, but it would not yield. The
child's sobs were dying down to a sleepy moan.

Another room stood open and they went in. It was the living-room. A
kettle on the fire was singing and puffing steam. There was no sign of a
key anywhere. Only a table, some chairs, a disordered sofa, certain
sporting newspapers lying about, and a few pictures on the walls. Some of
the pictures were of race-horses, but all the rest were memorial cards,
and one bore the text, "He shall gather them in his arms." Aggie was
shuddering as with cold, being chilled by some unknown fear.

"We must go down to the cellar--there's no help for it," said John.

The man in the hall had not spoken or stirred. He was still gazing in
terror on the bloodshot eyes looking out of the darkness. John gave the
candle to the girl and began to go noiselessly downstairs. There was not
a movement in the house now. Big Ben was striking. It was twelve o'clock.

At the next moment John Storm was midway down, and had full view of the
den. It was a washing cellar with a coal vault going out of it under