Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Trust; Or, Never Say Die онлайн

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Then he settled and they followed Herrick up the steps. The building might have been taken for the home of a retired banker, or the abode of a family physician in good standing.

They passed the first door, but a second, of oak and heavy enough to withstand a battering-ram, confronted them. Herrick pushed a button and they waited.

Across the heavy oaken door there was an opening, barred by a grill of ironwork that covered the entire paneling.

When Herrick pushed the button, a buzzer sounded somewhere inside the house. There was a moment more of waiting. Then the panel opened noiselessly, and a heavy-faced man, with a dark, drooping mustache, looked at them.

The light in the vestibule fell full on Herrick’s face, the man having thrust back his silk hat.

Clink!—the panel closed. Snap!—the door opened.

Herrick walked in at their head, and they followed. The heavy-faced man who had opened the door said:

“Hello, Charley,” and Herrick returned, “Good evening, Mike.”

The door closed behind them, and they had crossed the portal of one of the most palatial gambling-houses in New York.