"We've got to go back," she said furiously. "I don't live up this way at all. I live down-town."
"Well, you didn't tell me," said Pete, mildly. "You just let me go right on driving. I never dreamed of taking you anywhere except to the Ritz."
She told him the address and huddled back into her seat. Pete merely elevated an eyebrow as he turned the car.
"To return to our discussion of the party," he said, "it is unfortunate that you fainted before Signor Valentino took his departure. There were features connected with his exit that were unique. But I am greatly afraid that my master, Mr. Marshall, will have difficulty in making explanations. To bring your dearest friend to your house and then——"
"If you don't stop talking I'll shriek."
"We shall see. To make it interesting, I'll bet you five dollars that you don't."
And he continued to talk, smoothly, placidly and without cessation. She did not shriek. She did not even whimper. She sat in outraged silence, her hands clenched, her brain swimming with the futility of trying to puzzle out this mystery of Bill Marshall's valet.
"And so we arrive," said Pete, as he stopped the car in front of the boarding house and glanced up at its gloomy front. "No shrieking, no police whistles, no general alarm. Allow me."
He assisted her from the car and escorted her across the sidewalk. "You need not come up the steps," she said.