Shirley took Helene's arm, and the officer nodded.
“I'll send for the wagon, sir. They're some pickled. Good-night.”
As they walked up to the nearest car crossing, Helene turned to him with her surprise unabated.
“What did you do to them, Mr. Shirley?”
“Merely crushed a small vial of Amyl nitrite which I thoughtfully put in my handkerchief this afternoon. It is a chemical whose fumes are used for restoring people afflicted with heart failure: with men like these, and the amount of the liquid which I gave them for perfume, the result was the same as complete unconsciousness from drunkenness.—Science is a glorious thing, Miss Helene.”
CHAPTER XVII. IN WHICH SHIRLEY SURPRISES HIMSELF
They reached the hotel without untoward adventure.
“Perhaps we might find a little corner in that dining-room I saw this afternoon, with an obliging waiter to bring us something to eat. Shall we try? I need a lot of coffee, for I am going down to the dock of the Yacht Club to await developments.”
“You big silly boy,” she cautioned, with a maternal note in her voice which was very sweet to bachelor ears from such a maiden mouth, “you must not let Nature snap. You have a wonderful physique but you must go home to bed.”