THE NUMBER of the house Wayne Baldwin was looking for was in large figures that stood out clearly on the glass of the door with the light of the hallway behind it.

Yes, this was it, he told himself. What a place for her to be in! He walked up the steps cautiously. Somehow in this atmosphere he sensed the need of caution. The vestibule door was unlatched, as he had expected, for Jenny had given him every detail. He must slip by Big Ida unnoticed.

One flight up, to the right. And then—he paused at the door that opened into the flat, and listened. Then he raised his hand and knocked.

Money Johnson, hearing the knock, walked to the door, and without opening it called:

“Who’s dat out dere?”

“Open that door,” Baldwin ordered him.

Johnson did not recognize the voice as that of anyone he knew or expected. He did not like the commanding tone of the caller. Baldwin knocked again.

Johnson snapped back.

“Git away fum dat door. Stop dat dere knockin’!”

The black man turned away. Baldwin stood and listened. He heard the negro walk through the rooms. Babe and Johnson were in the alcove off the parlor. Wayne heard their voices through the thin partitions of the old house.

Money went to the parlor window to try to see the caller come out of the house.

Babe called to him.

“Is he gone? Who was it?”

It was Babe’s voice, Baldwin knew. Yes, Jenny had told him the truth. Back with that nigger! God! It was maddening! The thought of her going back to that nigger drove him insane with jealousy.

In an uncontrollable rage Baldwin drew back a few steps in the hall and then his shoulder struck the door with a terrific impact. The door quivered and cracked. Again he hurled himself against the barrier. It still held. Then with all the force of the mounting fury in him he crashed against the door a third time. The old lock cracked under the strain and the door swung suddenly open so that Baldwin was carried headlong into the room.

Johnson stood in the center of the floor, his eyes wild and his thick lower lip and chin stuck out. Baldwin started towards him. Then the negro, sensing that this was the white man who had come to take his woman away from him, sprang like a wild beast for Baldwin’s throat.

Then about the room they careened and swayed, knocking over the furniture and striking against the walls with terrific force while Babe looked on petrified.

Baldwin’s muscles, hardened by outdoor sports, began to tell on the burly negro whose soft living and carousing had weakened him. Johnson, realizing that he was rapidly losing ground, managed to break away.