He knew that he must temporize with her if he would find out Dorothy's whereabouts, which he was beginning to believe she might find out for him.
"Will you pardon me?" he asked, humbling himself. "I—I must know more."
"You have heard all that I have to say, Harry Kendal!" she cried.
Who was this creature who knew him—aye, knew his name, his most secret affairs? He must—he would know.
With a quick bound he cleared the space which divided them, and in a trice he had grasped her wrists firmly and torn the veil from her face.
This was followed by a mighty cry.
Chapter XXV.
The instant Harry Kendal sprang toward the veiled woman she sprang backward, as though anticipating the movement, and quick as a flash she overturned the candle, just as he tore the veil from her face.
A low, taunting laugh broke from her lips through the inky darkness of the room. In a trice she had torn herself free from his grasp, and like a flash she had sped from the room and down the narrow hall and stairway, like a storm-driven swallow, leaving her companion stumbling about the place, and giving vent to curses loud and deep as he fumbled about his vest pocket for matches.
The veiled woman never stopped until she reached the street, then paused for a moment and looked back as she reached the nearest gas lamp.