CHAPTER VI.
PAULINE POTTER'S HOUR COMES.
"It is possible!" declares John; "and under such circumstances I shall indeed be glad to have a friend in need.

At the same time it seems as strange to me to think Pauline Potter can be here--that the Chicago actress whom I once adored and with a youth's ardor swore to make my wife, can be here and bothering her head about one John Craig, M.D." "It will soon be known.

You have a good description of this house which the man supposed to be Luther Keene brought ?" asks Philander, showing unexpected business qualities; indeed, he is proving more of a wonder to the young Chicagoan every hour.
"Yes, and can find it easily enough by the red lamp in front," he replies.
"I see such a light along the strado." "That is, in all probability, our destination." They advance, and in another minute are at the door of the domicile marked so conspicuously with a red light.
John allows himself a brief period of ecstasy as he remembers that his mother crossed this threshold only recently, and in his eyes this renders it holy.
Then he recovers his common sense, and is once more the wide-awake, vigilant John Craig who met the advance of the mad dog so coolly upon the hill road of Valetta.
"There's a knocker," says the professor.
"I'll try it," John replies, and as he swings the weight a ponderous sound ensues, a hollow clamor that is loud enough to arouse the whole street, John thinks.
"Great guns!" mutters Philander, "it's a great piece of luck there's no grave-yard near." "How's that ?" demands his companion.
"Well, that clang would arouse the dead," is the amazing reply.
Further conversation is cut short by the sound of footsteps within--a bolt is withdrawn, proving that the inmates of the house on the Strada Mezzodi do not have the Maltese sense of honor that makes the presence of locks and bars unnecessary.
Then the door is opened.
The red lantern gives a light that shows them the interior of this Valetta house, and in the brilliant illumination stands a man, a native Maltese servant.
John has arranged his plan of action in such an event.

He hopes the man who opens the door may talk English.
"Good evening," he says, courteously.
The man returns the salutation gravely.
"I would see the gentleman of the house on business of importance." "Are you Doctor Craig ?" "That is my name." "John Alexander Craig ?" "The same." "Of Chicago ?" "You hit it, my friend of Malta." "Ah! you are expected--enter," is the surprising reply, and the professor calls his attention to it by a sly dig in the ribs.
They start to enter, when the faithful servitor of the house bars the way of the professor.
"Pardon; I said Doctor Craig." "Well ?" demands Philander, bristling up.
"You can wait for him outside.

I will give you a chair, a cigar." The professor laughs in good humor.
"Bless you, I'm Doctor Craig's shadow; he can't go anywhere but with me.
Fetch two chairs.