“Sure is a junk heap, this old block,” observed Pepper, as he fumbled in the dim light with his keys.  At length he opened a door, turned on a light and led Lane into his apartment.  “I have three rooms here, and the back one opens into a kind of areaway from which I get into an abandoned storeroom, or I guess it’s an attic.  To-morrow afternoon about three you meet me here and I’ll take you in there and let you have a look through the peep-hole I made.  It’s no use to-night, because there’ll be only boys at the club, and I’m going to take you right in.”

He switched off the light, drew Lane out and locked the door.  “I’m the only person who lives on this floor.  There’re three holes to this burrow and one of them is at the end of this hall.  The exit where the girls slip out is on the floor below, through a hallway to that outside stairs.  Oh, I’ll say it’s a Coney Island maze, this building!  But just what these young rakes want....  Come on, and be careful.  It’ll be dark and the stairs are steep.”

At the end of the short hall Pepper opened a door, and led Lane down steep steps in thick darkness, to another hall, dimly lighted by a window opening upon the street.

“You’ll have to make a bluff at playing poker, unless my butting in with you causes a row,” said Pepper, as he walked along.  Presently he came to a door upon which he knocked several times.  But before it was opened footsteps and voices sounded down the hall in the opposite direction from which Pepper had escorted Lane.

“Guess they’re just coming.  Hard luck,” said Pepper. “’Fraid you’ll not get in now.”

Lane counted five dark forms against the background of dim light.  He saw the red glow of a cigarette.  Then the door upon which Pepper had knocked opened to let out a flare.  Pepper gave Lane a shove across the threshold and followed him.  Lane did not recognize the young man who had opened the door.  The room was large, with old walls and high ceiling, a round table with chairs and a sideboard.  It had no windows.  The door on the other side was closed.

“Pepper, who’s this you’re ringin’ in on me?” demanded the young fellow.

“A pard of mine.  Now don’t be peeved, Sammy,” replied Pepper.  “If there’s any kick I’ll take the blame.  What’s got into you that you can gamble and drink’ with slackers?”

Dalrymple jammed his hat on and stepped toward the door.  “Dare, you said a lot.  I’ll beat it with you—­and I’ll never come back.”

“You bet your sweet life you won’t,” shouted Swann.

“Hold on there, Dalrymple,” interposed Mackay, stepping out.  “Come across with that eighty-six bucks you owe me.”

“I—­I haven’t got it, Mackay,” rejoined the boy, flushing deeply.

Lane ripped open his coat and jerked out his pocket-book and tore bills out of it.  “There, Hardy Mackay,” he said, with deliberate scorn, throwing the money on the table.  “There are your eighty-six dollars—­earned in France....  I should think it’d burn your fingers.”