The door opened and the nurse came in quickly.
“Perhaps you had better leave her to me,” she said, crossing the room.
Frances threw the rug off and struggled to her feet.
“I won’t stay here! You can’t make me stay!” she cried wildly, and took a few tottering steps to the door.
Conrad saw all trace of colour suddenly leave her face and her eyes rolled back. He jumped forward and caught her as she crumpled to the floor in a faint.
V
Sam’s street saloon was an old-fashioned honky-tonk on the waterfront, frequented by dockers, sailors and prostitutes. Its long, low-ceilinged room had high-backed booths along one side where Sam’s clients could talk and drink without being seen or disturbed. The other side of the room was given up to a long S-shaped bar that glittered with mirrors and lighted advertising signs.
Pete Weiner sat in the last booth at the far end of the room where he could
watch the swing doors of the saloon. A bottle of Scotch and a glass stood before him and an ash-tray piled high with butts indicated the time he had been in the booth.
Pete felt cold, frightened and sick. Already he was regretting what he had done. In Frances’s company he had been brave enough, but now he was on his own, a slow chill of terror was creeping over him.