I climbed up the creaky stairs two flights, and rapped on the door.

“Come,” said a voice, and I entered.  The room was the barest kind of a kitchen.  By the open window sat a thin, pale woman, holding a child.

“Does Mr. Samuel Simpson live here?” I asked.

“Yes, sir, but he’s not in now,” she returned.  “Can I do anything for you?”

“I guess not.”

“I hope—­ I hope there is nothing wrong,” she went on falteringly.

“Wrong?” I queried.  I did not quite understand her.

“Yes, sir.”

“Not exactly.  What makes you think so?”

“Because he drinks so,” she replied.

“I wish to get some information from him; that is all,” I returned.

As I concluded a heavy step sounded in the hall, and an instant later Sammy Simpson appeared.  He had evidently been imbibing freely, for his voice was thick and his sentences muddled.

“Hello!” he cried.  “You here already, eh!  What brought you?  Want to find out all about Chris Holtzmann?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so.  Saw it in your eye.  Yes, sir, your optic betrayed you.  Sit down.  Mag, give Mr. What’s-his-name a chair.  I’ll sit down myself.”  And he sank heavily down on a low bench, threw one leg over the other, and clasped his hands on his knee.

“I want to see those documents you took from Mr. Holtzmann’s safe,” I began boldly.

He started slightly and stared at me.

“Who said I took any document out of his safe?”

“Didn’t you say so?  I mean the ones relating to Holtzmann’s affairs in Brooklyn.”

“Well, yes, I did.”

“I want to see them.”

“Again I ask, what is there in it?” he exclaimed dramatically.

“If they really prove of value to me, I will pay you well for all your trouble,” I replied.

“Is that straight?” he asked thickly.

“It is,” I replied, and, I may as well add, I was thoroughly disgusted with the man.

“Then I’m yours truly, and no mistake.  Excuse me till I get them.”

Be rose unsteadily and left the room.  Hardly had he gone before his wife hurried to my side.

“Oh, sir, I hope you are not getting him into trouble?” she cried.  “He is a good man when he is sober; indeed he is,”

“I am not going to harm him, madam.  A great wrong has been done, and I only want your husband to assist me in righting it.  He has papers that can do it.”

“You are telling me the truth?” she questioned earnestly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I think I can trust you,” she said slowly.  “You look honest.  And these papers—­ ought you to have them?”

“Yes.  If your husband does not give them up, he will certainly get into great trouble.”

“You are young, and you don’t look as if you would lie.  If Sam has the papers, he shall give them to you.  He’s coming now.”

“Here’s all the evidence in the case,” said Sammy Simpson, on returning.  He held a thick and long envelope.  “What’s the value to you?”