Читать книгу Under the Tiger's Claws; Or, A Struggle for the Right онлайн

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The house was in a fashionable street, and had an attractive exterior. No layman would have dreamed that it masked a lair of vice. It was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

It was one of a superb block of brown sandstone residences within a stone’s throw of Fifth Avenue, with a broad flight of carved steps leading to the front door. The elegant stained windows of this front door, as well as those of the lower rooms, were protected with strong, iron gratings, that thieves might not break through and steal.

Incidentally, the police also were thus excluded—unless they came with a warrant. In that case, even, which a wardman was liberally paid to prevent, they would have “found nothing.” It takes time to read a search-warrant—all the time that would be required to effect a transformation scene within. Such are the precautions taken by vice.

Entrance could be had only with the sanction of a burly attendant constantly at the front door, and by means of the magic talisman of previous acquaintance, or the voucher of a known and reliable friend. One entering from the street would have seen only a superbly furnished hall, with sumptuous parlors adjoining, and a library and smoking-room beyond.