though it had been gnawed by a vindictive rat,--and scribbled hastily on
the back of a menu card:

"_Mrs. McCabe, 205 West 118th Street. Top floor. Ring 3 times._"

"I shall be there at seven," she told him. "You won't fail me?"

"Not if I'm still at liberty," he laughed.

And the waiter smiled at discretion, a far-away and unobtrusive smile that
could by no possibility give offense; at the same time it was calculated to
convey the impression that, in the opinion of one humble person, at least,
Mr. Maitland was a merry wag.

"Good-by ... Dan!"

Anisty held her fingers in his hard palm for an instant, rising from his
chair.

"Good-by, my dear," he said clumsily.

He watched her disappear, eyes humid, temples throbbing. "By the powers!"
he cried. "But she's worth it!"

Perhaps his meaning was vague, even to himself. He resumed his seat
mechanically and sat for a time staring dreamily into vacancy, blunt
fingers drumming on the cloth.

"No," he declared at length. "No; I'm safe enough ... in _her_ hands."