"What do you want at this time of night?"

"In the first place we want you to keep your mouth shut. In the next
place you must find a place for a man we've got here, and keep him for a
while."

"You're a loving nephew, you are, Dan Moriarity, Oh! you come around and
see your old aunt when you're up to some devilment, I'm bound."

Moriarity, not deigning to reply to this speech, had gone back to his
companion, and now returned with the form of the detective between them.

"My God! you haven't killed him, Dan?"

"He has a pretty sore head, I reckon, but nothing worse. Take us up-
stairs."

Following Nance, the men carried Chip behind the curtain, through
another room, and ascended a flight of stairs.

Nance threw open a door and Chip was placed upon a bed. The room was
sumptuously, even elegantly, furnished. Pictures adorned the walls, a
heavy carpet deadened the sound of the feet, and rich curtains kept back
the too-inquisitive light.

Chip, wounded and insensible, was in the house of the "widow," the
rendezvous of a daring band of robbers and the birth-place of many a
dashing raid or successful bank robbery.