"When did they turn the club dance into a masquerade?" asked a voice.
"Ages ago," answered Pete promptly. "Swing your car; you're on the wrong side of the road."
There was more laughter; the spotlight still held its victims.
"He looks like the Sultan of Sulu," commented the voice behind the spotlight.
"Running away with Marie Antoinette," said a second voice.
And then, in a sharp, feminine treble:
"Jack, look at that thing on her shoulders! Why, it's just exactly like my——"
Mary hid her face and shuddered. Pete slipped in the clutch and made a reckless detour that came within an ace of landing the side-car in a ditch. They shot away again with an echo of excited voices in their ears.
"We've got to get out of here quick!" shouted Pete. "I think they've got our number."