Their chauffeur was standing beside the car as they emerged from the hotel and started to cross the sidewalk; the porter, following, set their luggage on the curbstone; and at the same instant a young and pretty woman stepped lightly between Rue and Brandes.
“Good evening, Eddie,” she said, and struck him a staggering blow in the face with her white-gloved hand.
Brandes lost his balance, stumbled sideways, recovered himself, turned swiftly and encountered the full, protruding black eyes of Maxy Venem staring close and menacingly into his.
From Brandes’ cut lip blood was running down over his chin and collar; his face remained absolutely expressionless. The next moment his eyes shifted, met Ruhannah’s stupefied gaze.
“Go into the hotel,” he said calmly. “Quick––”
“Stay where you are!” interrupted Maxy Venem, and caught the speechless and bewildered girl by the elbow.
Like lightning Brandes’ hand flew to his hip pocket, and at the same instant his own chauffeur seized both his heavy, short arms and held them rigid, pinned behind his back.
“Frisk him!” he panted; Venem nimbly relieved him of the dull black weapon.
“Can the fake gun-play, Eddie,” he said, coolly shoving aside the porter who attempted to interfere. “You’re double-crossed. We got the goods on you; come on; who’s the girl?”
The woman who had struck Brandes now came up again beside Venem. She was young, very pretty, but deathly white except for the patches of cosmetic on 116 either cheek. She pointed at Brandes. There was blood on her soiled and split glove: