There was the number in bright silver numerals, but nothing was to be seen of any name.

"Most of them have a name," he said to himself. "I wonder who lives here?"

Hal descended again to the street, and walked on to the end of the block.

Here was a small stand with a flaring gasoline torch, at which an old German was selling apples and other fruit.

Hal entered into conversation with the proprietor of the stand, and at length asked if he knew who lived at the place, mentioning the number.

"Dot blace?" The man gave a low laugh. "I d.i.n.ks me nopody vos lif dere."

"n.o.body?"

"Nein."

"But there must be somebody," urged Hal. "I saw a man go in."

"Dot's so, too." The German laughed again. "But da don't vos lif dere."

"Well, what are they doing there, then?"

The apple man put his long finger up beside his nose.

"Dot vos a blace ver dere rich fool vos plow in his money; see?"

"A gambling-place?"

"Oxactly."

"Who runs it?"

"Dot I don't vos know. I d.i.n.ks me a fellow named Ditson."

"Do many men go there?"

"Yah. Somedimes so many as two dozen by von night."

"And they do nothing there but gamble?"

The German nodded. "Of you got some money you don't vont to kept dot's der blace to lose it."

"Thank you, but I need all I have," laughed Hal.

"Den you don't better keep away, ain't it?"

"I think that would be best."

"Dake mine vort it vos."

"Did you see many men go in to-night?"

"Vot you ask dot for, hey?"

"I'm looking for a man I know."

"I seen nine or ten men go in by dere front door. I don't vos know how many go py der pack."

"Then there is a back door?"

"Yah, on der next street."

"I see. Well, I guess I won't wait for the man."

Hal walked back slowly, and pa.s.sed the house. What should he do next?

Would it be worth while to track Allen farther at present?

Suddenly an idea popped into his mind. Farther up the street he had pa.s.sed a costumers' establishment, where everything in the shape of a make-up for detective or actor was to be had.

He walked back to the place, and entered it. Back of the counter stood a young who came up and asked what was wished.

"Can I get a small, black mustache cheap?" asked Hal.

"We have them for twenty-five cents."

"Will they stay on?"

"Yes, if you adjust them properly."

"Then let me have one."

The clerk brought forth the false mustache, and helped Hal to put it on.

The youth looked in a mirror at the effect.

"Changes me completely," he said.

"It does, sir. Makes you look five years older, too."

"Here is your money."

The clerk took Hal's quarter, and the boy walked forth from the place without taking the trouble to remove the mustache. Once outside he could not help but laugh.

"I am certainly going into the detective business, and no mistake," he thought. "I trust I am successful in what I undertake to do."

Hal walked back toward the gambling-house, and after some hesitation ascended the stone steps and rang the bell.

A negro answered his summons.

"Is Mr. Arnold here?" asked the lad, as coolly as he could.