“Meet me outside,” she said in a low voice. “Five minutes from now — around the corner — by the cab stand! All right?”
“All right,” agreed Cliff.
THE girl left the lobby. Cliff resumed his accustomed chair. He lighted a cigarette and watched the clock. When the five minutes had elapsed, he picked up his hat, which lay on the floor beside him, and walked out into the street.
He found the girl awaiting him, away from the lighted front of the hotel. There was a cab by the curb.
“Downtown?” questioned Cliff.
The girl nodded. Cliff helped her in the cab. The girl leaned through the partition and gave the name of a restaurant on Forty-third Street.
“You’ll like the place,” she said to Cliff. “We won’t meet anybody that I know. They don’t go there.”
Again the girl’s hand pressed Cliff’s arm. Then her voice assumed a warning tone.
“I like you, big boy,” she said. “I want to tip you off before it’s too late. You’re taking a chance when you go out with me. I thought I ought to tell you.
“I’m Madge Benton — and I’m Durgan’s girl! Do you know who Durgan is?”