CHAPTER XXII

A Gala Night § I The door of a dreary-looking house on an East Side street opened in response to the ringing of the bell. A man entered and the door was closed quickly. There was no light in the lobby. As the car in which he had arrived drove off westward: “H.Q.,” said the new arrival. “Anything to report?” “No.” The second voice speaking out of the stuffy darkness might have been that of an Italian. “Stand by,” the first directed. There was a sound of movement. A door was opened a…