“Well?” he asked.
“Shall I go?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll do anything you tell me to,” was the reply, and a faint smile flitted across the girl’s face.
“Have you fears, Margie?”
“Yes. I fear all the time ever since the death of Mother Flintstone.”
“Who, think you, is ‘Business’?”
“An enemy.”
“Then, why go to the Trocadero?”
“Because you say so.”