"Red Mose, the Midget, Harve Thoms--and the Skeeter! The Worst apaches in the city of New York; death contractors--the lowest bidders! Professional assassins, and a man's life any time for twenty-five dollars! I wonder--I've never done it yet--but I wonder if it would be a crime in God's sight if one shot--to KILL!" Jimmie Dale was at the corner again--again the street before him was black, deserted, empty.

He chose the right hand side, and, well in the shadow of the houses, as an extra precaution, stole along silently.

He stopped finally before one where, in the doorway, hung a little sign.
Jimmie Dale mounted the porch, and with his eyes close to the sign could just make out the larger words in the big printed type: ROOM TO RENT TOP FLOOR Jimmie Dale nodded.

That was right.

The first house on the right-hand side, with the room-to-rent sign, her letter had said.