Again the Italian shrugged his shoulders. He gave Mary to understand that, in his opinion, any woman who could steal and did not was a fool, and that any woman who stole and acknowledged it was a worse fool. But what, plainly, most interested him was the execution of his commission from Dyker. He talked so earnestly about it that he failed entirely to lay Mary's fears. She refused to give him her address, and as soon as he had left the table she endeavored to quit the hall.
The entrance of an acquaintance detained her. There were words that had to be said and drinks that had to be bought. Half an hour passed, and then, as she started with Carrie for the door, Mary saw Wesley Dyker standing outside. He was wrapped in a heavy overcoat with its military collar turned up about his chin and his black derby pulled far over his eyes; but Mary feared him too much to fail of recognition.
"There he is!" she whispered, catching her companion's arm. "The Dago telephoned him. I was afraid of that."
Escape was hopeless. She sent Carrie back to the dancers, and, going out, met Dyker, her head erect.
"I heard you was lookin' for me," she said.
Wesley raised his hat.
"Yes," he said dryly; "walk a block or two with me."
They went for some time in silence, Mary too much upon the defensive to risk beginning a conversation, and Dyker trying in vain to command the anger that had been growing with every day since he had learned how she had betrayed him to Marian. At the first dark street into which he turned her, his resentment burst its guard.
"What in hell do you mean by telling everybody all you know about me?" he demanded.
Mary shrank away.