It was a dark windy night, slightly cool for August, and a fine misty rain was blowing.  Bessy’s footsteps pattered softly as she ran block after block, and she did not slacken her pace till she reached the house where Daren Lane had his room.  In answer to her ring a woman appeared, who told her Mr. Lane was out.

This was a severe disappointment to Bessy, and left her an alternative that required more than courage, but she did not vacillate.  She sped swiftly on in the dark, for the electric lights were few and far between, until the black of the gloomy building, where the boys had their club, loomed up.  On the corner Bessy saw a man standing with his back to a telegraph pole.  This occasioned her much concern; perhaps he might be watching the building.  But he had not seen her, of that she was certain.  The possibility that he might be a spy made her task all the harder.

Bessy returned the way she come, crossed at the next corner, hurried round the block and up to the outside stairway that was her objective point.

By feeling along the brick wall she brought up, with a sudden bump, at the back of the stairway.  Then she deliberated.  If she went around to the front so as to get access to the steps, she might pass in range of the loiterer whom she mistrusted.  That risk she would not incur.  Examining the wall that enclosed the box-like stairway as best she could in the dark, she found it rickety, full of holes and cracks, and she decided she would climb it.  A sheer perpendicular board wall, some twelve or fifteen feet high, shrouded in pitchy darkness and apparently within earshot of a police spy, did not daunt Bessy Bell.  Slipping her strong fingers in crevices and her slim toes in cracks, she climbed up and up, till she got hold of the railing post on the first platform.  Here she had great difficulty to keep from falling, but lifting and squirming her supple body, by a desperate effort she got her knees on the platform, and then pulled herself to safety.  Once on the stairs she ran up the remaining few steps to the landing, where she rested panting and triumphant.

As she was about to go on she heard footsteps, which froze her.  A man was crossing the street.  He came from the direction of the corner where she had seen the supposed spy.  Presently she saw him stop under one of the trees to scratch a match, and in the round glow of light she saw him puff at a cigar.  Then he passed on with uncertain steps, as of one slightly under the influence of drink.

Bessy’s heart warmed to life and began to beat again.  Then she sought for the key.  She had been told where it was, but did not remember.  Slipping her hand under the railing, close to the wall, she felt a string, and, pulling at it suddenly, found the key in her hand.  She glided into the dim hall, feeling along the wall for a door, until she found it.  With trembling fingers she inserted the key in the lock, and the door swung inward silently.  Bessy went in, leaving the key on the outside.