He offered his arm to Marion and led her out of the apartment.
“Thank goodness I was in time,” he said as they reached the curb, “still, I guess you would have looked out for yourself all right. I wouldn’t want you to come for me armed with even a toy revolver.”
He chuckled good-naturedly as he put Marion into a cab.
“Don’t fail to be on hand to-morrow night,” he said, earnestly. “Your song is the hit of the evening, and the public can’t spare you. Don’t mind about Carlotta. I’ll watch her in future. She’s a tigress all right, but I know her nature.”
Marion thanked him and was soon alighting at her own door. It was nearly two o’clock, and the block where she lived was almost in darkness; as she ran up the steps she felt a trifle nervous.
While she was searching for her latchkey she heard a step behind her. She turned around quickly and confronted a stranger, a small, swarthy man, his face badly scarred and hideous.
“What do you want?” asked Marion with a frightened gasp.
“You,” muttered the fellow instantly, as he laid a long yellow hand on the fair girl’s shoulder.
Marion gave a shriek that awoke the echoes.
In an instant the man turned and fled down the street; he was out of sight before any one responded.