“All right, my dear. Stay there,” he said loudly.
The dark woman’s escort glanced at him worriedly and beckoned to a waiter.
“Say, waiter, there’s a chap over there with the jitters. He needs looking after.”
The waiter approached Roberts warily.
“Is there something you wish, sir?” he said, deferentially.
Roberts still watched the eyes. He stood up and spoke quietly.
“Very well, I shall go. You remain here.” Turning to the waiter, “My hat, quickly.”
Outside, the adviser hailed a taxi, climbed in unsteadily and directed the driver to his apartment.
Dropping his coat on the divan in the living room, he went hurriedly to the mirror and stared into it. The light on the glass wavered, a shadow appeared, and Deane’s eyes, large and transparent, materialized before him. Roberts cried out sharply.