“Not unless you know him,” whispered the detective; and immediately launched out into an easy talk about some totally different business which George neither understood, nor was expected to, I dare say.

Suddenly the steps below paused, and George heard Sweetwater draw in his breath in irrepressible dismay.  But they were immediately resumed, and presently the head and shoulders of a workingman of uncommon proportions appeared in sight on the stairway.

George cast him a keen look, and his hand rose doubtfully to his neck and then fell back again.  The approaching man was tall, very well-proportioned and easy of carriage; but the face—­such of it as could be seen between his cap and the high collar he had pulled up about his ears, conveyed no exact impression to George’s mind, and he did not dare to give the signal Sweetwater expected from him.  Yet as the man went by with a dark and sidelong glance at them both, he felt his hand rise again, though he did not complete the action, much to his own disgust and to the evident disappointment of the watchful detective.

“You’re not sure?” he now heard, oddly interpolated in the stream of half-whispered talk with which the other endeavoured to carry off the situation.

George shook his head.  He could not rid himself of the old impression he had formed of the man in the snow.

“Mr. Dunn, a word with you,” suddenly spoke up Sweetwater, to the man who had just passed them.  “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that is my name,” was the quiet response, in a voice which was at once rich and resonant; a voice which George knew—­the voice of the impassioned speaker he had heard resounding through the sleet as he cowered within hearing in the shed behind the Avenue A tenement.  “Who are you who wish to speak to me at so late an hour?”

He was returning to them from the door he had unlocked and left slightly ajar.

“Well, we are—­You know what,” smiled the ready detective, advancing half-way to greet him.  “We’re not members of the Associated Brotherhood, but possibly have hopes of being so.  At all events, we should like to talk the matter over, if, as you say, it’s not too late.”

“I have nothing to do with the club—­”

“But you spoke before it.”

“Yes.”

“Then you can give us some sort of an idea how we are to apply for membership.”

Mr. Dunn met the concentrated gaze of his two evidently unwelcome visitors with a frankness which dashed George’s confidence in himself, but made little visible impression upon his daring companion.

“I should rather see you at another time,” said he.  “But—­” his hesitation was inappreciable save to the nicest ear—­“if you will allow me to be brief, I will tell you what I know—­which is very little.”

Sweetwater was greatly taken aback.  All he had looked for, as he was careful to tell my husband later, was a sufficiently prolonged conversation to enable George to mark and study the workings of the face he was not yet sure of.  Nor did the detective feel quite easy at the readiness of his reception; nor any too well pleased to accept the invitation which this man now gave them to enter his room.