"Where? Where was she?"
"In a gre't big house on Esplanade Street. She seemed mighty put out about something. Then a man run me away with a club."
A moment later Blake was on the street and had hailed a carriage. The driver, reading urgency in the set face of his fare, whipped the horses into a gallop and the vehicle tore across town, leaping and rocking violently. The thought that Myra Nell was in danger filled Blake with a physical sickness. Her beauty gone! Could it be that the Mafia had taken this means of attacking him, knowing of his affection for the girl? Of a sudden she became very dear, and he was smothered with fury that any one should cause her suffering.
His heart was pounding madly as the carriage slowed into Esplanade Street, threatening to upset, and he saw ahead of him the house he sought. With a sharp twinge of apprehension he sighted another man approaching the place at a run, and leaping from his conveyance, he raced on with frantic speed.
XV
THE END OF THE QUEST
Evidently the alarm had spread, for there were others ahead of Blake. Several men were grouped beneath an open window. They were strangely excited; some were panting as if from violent exertion; a young French Creole, Lecompte Rilleau, was sprawled at full length upon the grassy banquette, either badly injured or entirely out of breath. He raised a listless hand to the newcomer, as if waving him to the attack. Norvin recognized them all as admirers of Myra Nell—cotton brokers, merchants, a bank cashier—a great relief surged over him.
"Thank God! You're here—in time," he gasped. "What's happened to—her?"
Raymond Cline started to speak, but just then Blake heard the girl herself calling to him, and saw her leaning from a window, her piquant beauty framed with blushing roses which hung about the sill.
"Myra Nell! You're safe!" he cried, shakingly. "What have they done to you?"