“That’s the way,” observed Kennedy.  “There are always a considerable number of inhuman beings who are willing to make capital out of the weaknesses of others.  This illicit sale of cocaine is one example.  Such conditions have existed with the opium products a long time.  Now it seems to be the ‘coke fiend.’”

“I was glad I did just as I did,” resumed Clare, “because it wasn’t long before I saw that the thing to do was to feign drowsiness.  A maid came over to me and in a most plausible and insinuating way hinted that perhaps I might feel like resting and that if the noise in the beauty parlour annoyed me, they had the entire next house—­the one next to the Montmartre, you know—­which had been fitted up as a dormitory.”

“You didn’t go?” cut in Craig immediately.

“I did not.  I pleaded an engagement.  Why, the place is a regular dope joint.”

“Exactly.  I suspected as much as you went along.  Everything seems to have moved uptown lately, to have been veneered over to meet the fastidious second decade of the twentieth century.  But underneath it all are the same old vices.  I’m glad you didn’t attempt to go into the next house.  Anyhow, now we are certain about the character of the place.  Did you notice anything about the means of communicating with the outside—­the telephones, for instance?”

Miss Kendall was evidently feeling much better now.

“Oh, yes,” she answered.  “I took particular care to observe that.  They have a telephone, but there is a girl who attends to it, although they don’t really need one.  She listens to everything.  Then, too, in the other house—­You remember I spoke about the girl whom we saw paying Ike the Dropper?  It seems that she has a similar position at the telephone over there.”

“So they have two telephones,” repeated Craig.

“Yes.”

“Good.  There are always likely to be some desperate characters in places like that.  If we ever have anyone go into that dope joint we must have some way of keeping in touch and protecting the person.”

Miss Kendall had gone home for a few hours of rest after her exciting experience.  Craig was idly tapping with his fingers on the broad arm of his chair.

Suddenly he jumped up.  “I’m going up there to look that joint over from the outside,” he announced.

We walked past the front of it without seeing anything in particular, then turned the corner and were on the Avenue.  Kennedy paused and looked at a cheap apartment house on which was a sign, “Flats to Let.”

“I think I’ll get the janitor to show me one of them,” he said.

One was on the first floor in the rear.  Kennedy did not seem to be very much interested in the rent.  A glance out of the window sufficed to show him that he could see the back of the Montmartre and some of the houses.  It took only a minute to hire it, at least conditionally, and a bill to the janitor gave us a key.