The door opened quietly, and he went in without saying a word to the squat misshapen figure that flattened itself into the shadow as he passed.

At the end of the hall hung a tattered green curtain that swayed and shook in the gusty wind which had followed him in from the street.

He dragged it aside and entered a long low room which looked as if it had once been a third-rate dancing-saloon.

Shrill flaring gas-jets, dulled and distorted in the fly-blown mirrors that faced them, were ranged round the walls.

Greasy reflectors of ribbed tin backed them, making quivering disks of light.