“So!” after a moment's silence, Warren continued, a puzzled look on his face. “What was the trouble? I don't see how any one could be cross with a nice little girl like you. But to-night, I'm to have another little party up at my house. Bring some one up, who won't be cross. You come, Mr. Shirley?”
Helene hesitated, but Monty acquiesced.
“That would be splendid. What time?”
“About eleven. I'll expect you—I must run along now, as I'm ordering some fancy dishes.”
Shirley had paid his waiter, and he rose with Helene.
“We must be leaving, too. I'll accept your invitation.”
“And I'll be there, too, Mr. Shirley,” put in Pinkie Marlowe. “I'll teach you some new steps. Reggie has a wonderful phonograph for dancing, with all the new tunes. See you later, girlie.”
They were accompanied to the door by Shine and Warren. At the check-room, Shirley was interested to note that Shine Taylor took out his green velour hat. His feet were adorned with white spats. After the door of their taxi had slammed he confided to Helene that he had located the gentleman who had caused his wreck that morning. Still, however, the clues were too weak for action. The car went first to the club, where Shirley sent in for any possible letters or messages. The servant brought out a note. It was another surprise. He gave an address to the driver and as the car turned up Fifth Avenue, he studied this missive with knit brows.
“A new worry?” asked Helene. “May I help you?”
He handed her the letter, and she noticed the nervous handwriting. It was short.