“I guess it is Hades there,” he resumed to me.  “She has just telephoned that one of the dope fiends upstairs—­a man, so that you see they admit both men and women there, after all—­had become violent and Harris had to be called to quiet him before he ran amuck.  She said she was absolutely sure, this time at least, that it was Harris.  As I was saying about this phantom circuit, it is used a good deal now.  Sometimes they superimpose a telephone conversation over the proper arrangement of telegraph messages and vice versa.

“What’s that?” cried Craig, suddenly breaking off.  “They heard you talking that last time, and you have locked the door against them?  They are battering it down?  Move something heavy, if you can, up against it—­the bureau, anything to brace it.  We’ll be there directly.  Come on, Walter.  There isn’t time to get around Broadway for that fixed post cop.  We must do it ourselves.  Hurry.”

Craig dashed breathlessly out on the street.  I followed closely.

“Hurry,” he panted.  “Those people haven’t any use for anyone that they think will snitch on them.”

As we turned the corner, we ran squarely into a sergeant slowly going his rounds with eyes conveniently closed to what he was paid not to see.

Kennedy stopped and grabbed his arm.

“There’s a girl up here in 72 who is being mistreated,” he cried.  “Come.  You must help us get her out.”

“Aw, g’wan.  Whatyer givin’ us? 72?  That’s a residence.”

“Say—­look here.  I’ve got your number.  You’ll be up on the most serious charges of your whole career if you don’t act on the information I have.  All of Ike the Dropper’s money’ll go for attorney’s fees and someone will land in Sing Sing.  Now, come!”

We had gained the steps of the house.  Outside all was dark, blank, and bare.  There was every evidence of the most excessive outward order and decency—­not a sign of the conflict that was raging within.

Before the policeman could pull the bell, which would have been a first warning of trouble to the inmates, Kennedy had jumped from the high stoop to a narrow balcony running along the front windows of the first story, had smashed the glass into splinters with a heavy object which he had carried concealed under his coat, and was engaged in a herculean effort to wrench apart some iron bars which had been carefully concealed behind the discreetly drawn shades.

As one yielded, he panted, “No use to try the door.  The grill work inside guards that too well.  There goes another.”

Inside now we could hear cries that told us that the whole house was roused, that even the worst of the drug fiends had come at least partly to his senses and begun to realize his peril.  From Margot’s beauty parlour a couple of girls and a man staggered forth in a vain effort to seem to leave quietly.

“Close that place, too, officer,” cried Kennedy to the now astounded policeman.  “We’ll attend to this house.”