The street was dark and empty; opposite the flat, in the back of the deserted market, the ducks and geese were calling persistently.
As they were buying their tamales from the half-breed Mexican at the street corner, McTeague observed: "Marcus ain't gone to bed yet.

See, there's a light in his window.
There!" he exclaimed at once, "I forgot the doorkey.

Well, Marcus can let us in." Hardly had he rung the bell at the street door of the flat when the bolt was shot back.

In the hall at the top of the long, narrow staircase there was the sound of a great scurrying.

Maria Macapa stood there, her hand upon the rope that drew the bolt; Marcus was at her side; Old Grannis was in the background, looking over their shoulders; while little Miss Baker leant over the banisters, a strange man in a drab overcoat at her side.