As they walked out of the restaurant together the girl glanced up at the
dark profile, mysterious as a stranger's, yet familiar as a friend's. The
man had told her nothing about himself except that he was in danger, and
had given no hint as to what that danger was; but the girl's heart was
warm with belief in him. If there were a question of crime, the crime was
not his. His superiority over those creatures must be moral as well as
physical and social.

By an odd coincidence, Mr. Smith steered for the sofa in the corner
whence a man had stared from behind an open newspaper at a tall, lonely
girl in gray, earlier in the evening. Annesley knew nothing of this
coincidence, because she had not noticed the man; but even if she had,
she would have forgotten him. She had been thinking of herself when she
first trailed her gray dress over the red carpet of the foyer; now,
returning, she thought of the man who was with her and the two who were
certain to follow.

Scarcely were she and Smith seated before the others appeared. The men
sat down in chairs drawn up at a little table; and not only must those in
the corner pass by them in escaping, but every word spoken above a
whisper must be overheard.

This fact did not embarrass Smith. He ordered coffee and cigarettes, and
talked to Annesley in an ordinary tone about a motor trip which it would
be pleasant to take. The watchers also demanded coffee. But the waiter
they summoned was slow in fulfilling their order. When it was obeyed,
before the pair had time to lift cup to lip, Mr. Smith took impish
pleasure in getting to his feet.

"Come, dear," he said, "we'd better be off."