Past the park the quartet ran, and took the first turn to the left for a block or more. Then came a stretch of darkness, between one electric lamp and another. And then, as if whisked away by magic, the foremost woman disappeared. The other halted, breathless and wondering. She started again, but a moment too late. The Italian caught her roughly by the arm and with a quick movement tore aside the veil.
"Kitty Killigrew!" Hillard cried.
He sprang forward, grasped the Italian by the shoulders and whirled him round in no gentle manner. The Italian struck out savagely and fearlessly, but Hillard seized his arm and held it firmly. There was a short tableau. Each man could hear the breathing of the other, quick and deep. The devil gleamed in the Italian's eyes, but there was a menace Hillard's equally strong.
"You meddling figure of a dog!"
"Take care lest the dog bite, signore."
"Release my arm and stand aside!"
"Presently. Now, that way is yours," said Hillard, pointing in the direction of the way they had come.
"Are you certain?" The Italian regulated his breathing, forcing down the beat of his heart.
"So certain that if you do not obey me, I shall call the police and let you explain to them."
"I should like nothing better," replied the Italian, with a coolness which dumfounded Hillard.