Now, Sam knew that when he entered the place he was on the right-hand
side, immediately behind his game.

If they had crossed over to the side on which the beer vault stood, the
crunching of the ashes or the noise of the old cans, which would be very
apt to be moved, would have advised him of that fact.

Putting these facts together, Sam was almost certain that they had not
entered the beer cellar.

Just opposite stood a half-open door, which, flush with the court, would
have accounted for the sudden disappearance of the men if they had
turned suddenly and entered it. These observations were made by the
detective while he was engaged in a lively and pungent conversation with
the burly bar-keeper.

The saloon made a good post of observation, and Sam settled himself for
an all-day patron if necessary. Taking a seat near the window, he called
for a glass of beer, and tilting back his chair took a careful survey of
the premises.

The alley was what is termed a "blind alley." On each side were low
doors entering the basements of the houses, and the population consisted
of rag-pickers, second-hand clothiers and one pawnshop. It was just such
a place as one would expect to meet the lowest types of humanity. Dirty
children were playing in the half-deserted place, their blue lips and
pinched faces speaking eloquently of their poverty. Italian hand-organ
grinders were sitting on their door-steps, and slatternly women were
leaning from their windows, exchanging gossip in loud, shrill tones.