The letters were in such scraps I could not even decipher the address.
One fact, however, was revealed--some man had been sleeping up here lately, and it was not Coombs, but a much smaller Individual.

This knowledge made me even more cautious, as I tiptoed down the hall, now narrowed by the back stairway.

The first door opened into a bath-room, the tub half full of dirty water, a mussed towel on the floor.

The last door, leading to a room apparently extending clear across the rear of the house, was tightly closed.

I set my lamp down well out of sight, and gripped my revolver, before attempting to manipulate the knob.