She settled back, but did not relax. She had the appearance of a motionless cat, not tense, yet ready to leap. Her dark eyes were alert, wide and bright.
"About Mr. Templar," the psychiatrist began. "Although I am glad to confess a personal interest in your welfare, what I am about to say is of an academic nature."
Avalon smiled with one side of her mouth.
"Anyone will grant that he is a romantic figure, Miss Dexter. He must have a tremendous attraction for women, especially young and beautiful girls who are trying to carve out a career. He represents all they strive for — poise, charm, fame and respect from many psychological types. But he is not a stable person, Miss Dexter."
Avalon smiled with both sides of her mouth. It was a tender smile, with secret undertones.
"His path through life," said Zellermann — "and I don't mean to sound like a text book — is inevitably beset with adventure, crime, and personal danger. I happen to know that many who have allied themselves with him have died. Somehow, he has come through all his adventures. But the day will come, my dear Miss Dexter, when Lady Luck will frown on her favorite protege."
Avalon rose abruptly.
"And so on and so on," she said. "Let's skip the soul analysis. You heard him fling me to the wolves. I informed on him, he said. I told you about what he's been doing. I don't think I'm in danger of being hurt — or even being near him, for that matter. So long."
She walked out of the hotel, straight and tall and lovely. When she was on the sidewalk, three cab drivers rushed up to claim her for a fare. She chose one.
"The Tombs," she said; and the man blinked.