At last she turned into a small, dark street of modest one-story residences, iron-shuttered, dark and cheerless.

Here she paused in front of a narrow iron gate.
"Madam," I said, "you represent to me one of the problems of my life.
Why does your taste run to such quarters as these?
This might be that same back street in Washington!" She chuckled to herself, at length laughed aloud.

"But wait! If you entered my abode once," she said, "why not again?
Come." Her hand was at the heavy knocker as she spoke.

In a moment the door slowly opened, just as it had done that night before in Washington.

My companion passed before me swiftly.