Approaching a secluded house in a dimly lighted location, he glanced sharply at the number, as though to reassure himself, then running swiftly up the front steps, he pulled the door-bell vigorously and awaited developments.

After considerable delay the door was unlocked and partially opened by a hatchet-faced woman, who peered cautiously out, her features lighted by the uncertain rays of a candle which the draught momentarily threatened to extinguish.
"Good-evening, madam," said the stranger, airily.

"Pardon such an unseasonable call, but I wish to see Mr.Lovering, who, I understand, has rooms here." "There's no such person rooming here," she replied, sharply, her manner indicating that this bit of information ended the interview, but her interlocutor was not to be so easily dismissed.
"No such person!" he exclaimed, at the same time scrutinizing in apparent perplexity a small card which he had produced.

"J.

D.
Lovering, 545 Jefferson Street; isn't this 545, madam ?" "Yes," she answered, testily, "this is 545; but there's nobody here by the name of Lovering." The young man turned as if to go.