"Here he comes," called the girl, catching sight of Anson. "Good old Carter. Ans," she went on, "chase this c.o.o.n out of here; he won't let me sleep." Anson motioned the porter to keep his distance. "An' say, Ans,"

the girl went on, "gimme a quarter. I'm broke and I got to have some hop or die."

Anson handed the negro a quarter without a word. The porter hurried out of the cafe.

"He wanted to chase me out," the girl whimpered.

"Well, Rose," Anson went on pacifically, "you've got to cut out this all night booze thing. You're hurting the house."

The girl looked up at the dive keeper with dull eyes.

"Hurting the house, eh?" she echoed. "What about me? Think I ain't hurting myself? Say, it's got so I'd rather be drunk than sober. I can't stand to be sober. I always start thinking. Some of these days you'll hear of me walking out of this place and making a dent in the lake--"

The negro returned with the drug. The girl seized it with trembling hands. While the two men stood and looked she drew a small lancet from the bosom of her dress, inserted its point under the skin of her white forearm and drove a few drops of the drug into the vein. The effect was instantaneous. She laughed loudly.

"Now, you get to bed," ordered Anson.

"Bed, h.e.l.l," retorted the girl.

"I said get to bed." Anson glowered at her.

"There'll be a big night tonight, and--"

"You can't give me no orders."

Anson had held in his temper as long as he was able. His fierce eyes twinkled and his brutal mouth twitched. Without a word he reached across the table, clutched the girl by the throat and dragged her out of her seat. He hurled her, half strangled, on the floor.

"Here," he bellowed to some of his servitors, "take this d.a.m.n h.e.l.l-cat out of here. Take her up to the hotel. If she won't go to bed, throw her into the street."

"You--you--" gasped the girl, struggling to her feet.

"Don't talk back to me," roared Anson, "or I'll kill you. I'll show you what you are and who's running this place." Then to the waiters: "Get her out of here."

The girl was dragged out of the room, screaming and fighting. A wisp of curses came back into the big room as she was lugged up the stairs towards the hotel.

Anson stood panting with anger. A mail carrier entered and placed a letter in his hand. He opened and read:

"Mr. Carter Anson: Take your choice. Close the Cafe Sinister, or I'll see that it is closed. Mary Randall."

The big man flushed crimson with rage. He tried to speak, but the words choked in his throat. He crumpled the letter and hurled it with a curse across the room.

"Druce," he bellowed.

Druce hurried across the room.

"Did you see that?"

"Yes, I saw you beat her up. Why don't you let 'em alone? You'll kill one of them some of these days."

"Naw, not her. I mean the letter. Mary Randall--she says she's going to close us." A waiter recovered the letter and brought it to Druce. He read it.

"Say, listen, are you turning yellow--"

"No, I ain't yellow," returned Anson, "but this thing is getting my goat.

You're sure about that lease?"

"Sure?--say, I thought we'd settled that--"

"Well," pursued Anson, "I don't like this. What have you done with this other girl--the one you married? She'll be getting us into a row next."

"I married her, didn't I?"

"Yes, but--"

"Well, it's about time she started earning her bread. This Randall woman hasn't got me scared. You know why I married her. Well, I'm going through with it. I--"

The rest of his sentence died on his lips. A girl scarcely more than a child came in from the hotel entrance. She was dressed in a lacey gown, a size too large for her. The slit skirt displayed her slim ankles in pink silk stockings. The French heeled shoes were decorated with rhinestone buckles. In spite of this outrageous dress she was still pretty. It was Elsie Welcome.

"h.e.l.lo, kid," said Druce, his manner changing.

"I want to see you, Martin," Elsie replied. Druce noticed that she seemed deeply agitated. There were signs of recently shed tears on her cheeks.

"I'll run along," said Anson, seeing the girl's agitation. When he was gone Druce drew the girl into a booth and demanded sharply:

"What the devil do you want and how did you get here?"

"I came in a taxicab," the girl answered.

"A taxi, eh? Well, you're learning. Who paid for it?"

"It isn't paid for, Martin. I wanted to see you and--"

"And what?"

"The man's waiting outside."

Druce flushed angrily. "Look here," he demanded. "Don't play me for a b.o.o.b. Get someone else to pay your taxi bills."

"But, Martin, I thought--"

Druce did not wait for the rest of the sentence. With a muttered oath he rushed outside and paid the waiting chauffeur.

"Now, what do you want?" he demanded when he returned.

Elsie looked at him piteously. "Martin," she said, "I can't stay in that place any longer."

"Say, don't my aunt treat you all right?"

The girl burst out sobbing. "She isn't your aunt, Martin. She told me so herself. And that flat--"