It was a block devoted exclusively to flats and apartment houses, and, apart from a few belated pedestrians, was deserted.

Jimmie Dale strolled leisurely down one side, crossed the street at the end of the block, and strolled leisurely back on the other side--there was no sign of either Burton or Lannigan.

It was a fairly safe presumption then that Bookkeeper Bob had not returned yet, or one of the detectives at least would have been shadowing the house.
Jimmie Dale, smiling a little grimly, retraced his steps again, and turned deliberately into a doorway--whose number he had noted as he had passed a moment or so before.

So, after all, there was time yet! This was the house.

"Number eighteen," she had said in her letter.