Violet's wide eyes should have been sufficient denial.
"Why would I do that?" she asked.
"That's so; only I thought—well, I beg your pardon, Violet. You have my office-address on that card. I'll send for you in a day or two—be sure to be home every afternoon—and then we'll fix Madame Rose with the District-Attorney.—Good-by. Sure you're not afraid?"
Her gratitude would not permit her to acknowledge fear.
"Not afraid," she smiled, rather grimly.
"Then remember: the first street to your right, the next to your left, and then to your right again—third or fourth house in the row."
He opened the cab-door and alighted, holding out his hand.
She straightened her beaver hat, drew the folds of her dark cloak tightly over the betraying crimson of her kimona, and, helped by his grasp, followed him to the swarming curb.
"I—I don't know how to thank you," she said.
"Then don't try," returned Dyker, laughing easily. "You can make it all right with me when you testify against Rose."