With an inarticulate cry Pete jerked the receiver on to the hook, and stumbled away from the telephone. Five minutes later he had left the house and was hurrying through the Common to the Boylston Street subway station.
Billy, a long cloak thrown over her white dress, was waiting for him. Her white slippers tapped the platform nervously, and her hair, under the light scarf of lace, fluffed into little broken curls as if it had been blown by the wind.
“Miss Billy, Miss Billy, what can this mean?” gasped the man. “Where is Mrs. Stetson?”
“At Mrs. Hartwell's—you know she is giving a reception to-night. But come, we must hurry! I'm after Mr. Bertram.”
“After Mr. Bertram!”
“Yes, yes.”
“Alone?—like this?”
“But I'm not alone now; I have you. Don't you see?”
At the blank stupefaction in the man's face, the girl sighed impatiently.
“Dear me! I suppose I'll have to explain; but we're losing time—and we mustn't—we mustn't!” she cried feverishly. “Listen then, quick. It was at Mrs. Hartwell's tonight. I'd been watching Mr. Bertram. He was with that horrid Mr. Seaver, and I never liked him, never! I overheard something they said, about some place they were going to, and I didn't like what Mr. Seaver said. I tried to speak to Mr. Bertram, but I didn't get a chance; and the next thing I knew he'd gone with that Seaver man! I saw them just in time to snatch my cloak and follow them.”