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Updated: July 12, 2025
Webber's face he had seen, a face no one could forget, an unmistakable face. And that meant that it had been Dr. Webber who had been persecuting him. But why? He had been going to report to Webber when he had run into that golden field in the rooming-house hallway. And suddenly things had changed. Harry felt a chill reaching to his fingers and toes. Yes, something had changed, all right.
Finally, after crossing untold railroad tracks and ducking around sheds and through alleys, they came to a rooming-house that was "a holy fright." "It's all right inside," Carl explained. When they reached his room, there was one not over-broad bed in the corner, and a red head showing, snoring contentedly. "Who's that?" the brother asked. "Oh, a fellow I picked up somewhere."
Cattermole kept in a genteel fashion in a basement three doors from his rooming-house on Tavistock Place. After his night of fear and tragic portents he resented the general flowered-paper-napkin aspect of Mrs. Cattermole's establishment.
He tiptoed down the steps and went away, passing in between Number Five and Number Seven. He ran all the way back to Lucy's house, threw down the key he had got from her, and then went to his own rooming-house. He says he stayed there the rest of the night." "Is that all?" "That's all." "How about the lavalliere? Wasn't it found under his window? The papers said so."
The men whom he holds in the subjection of fear will all be taking a chance with him. So Mysterious Pete, bad man and murderer, coward at heart to the marrow, strutted toward his rooming-house with a heart full of hate to everybody. The pleasant morning sunshine was an offense to him. A care-free laugh on the breeze made him grit his teeth irritably. Particularly he hated Dave Roush.
A good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast put the young man in fine fettle, and about ten o'clock he repaired to a certain rooming-house on Main Street, the number of which he obtained from the clipping in his pocket. A girl answered his ring, but at sight of him she shut the door hurriedly, explaining through the crack: "Mrs. MacDougal is out and you can't come in."
And the police sergeant, resting his chin on his elbow, leaned forward on his high stool and peered through the partition window at the landlady and said nothing. Or rather, he said: "don't know. That's the way with people sometimes. They get afraid." This man came to Mrs. Balmer's rooming-house in Huron Street when it was spring. He was a short, stocky man with a leathery face and little eyes.
Immediately after the sound of footsteps ascending the stairway to the rooming-house came plainly to his ears, and then he had slipped the last bolt upon the rear door and was out in the yard beyond. Now Bridge, sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion that the boom of a cannon might not have disturbed, did that inexplicable thing which every one of us has done a hundred times in our lives.
The Wyndham was a rooming-house rather than a hotel, but the landlady kept a register for her guests. She brought it out into the hall from her room for the Wyoming men to look at. There, under date of the twenty-first, they found the name they were looking for. Oscar Olson had put up at the Wyndham. He had stayed three nights, checking out on the twenty-fourth.
Placing the tools in one of the sacks he wrapped the whole in the second sack and made his way back to the bank building. Upon the second floor he found the proprietor of the rooming-house and engaged a room in the rear of the building, overlooking the yard.
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