"My name is not Calendar."

The detective smiled wearily. "Don't be a fool, Calendar," he began. But
the porter's hand fell upon his shoulder and the giant bent low to bring
his mouth close to the other's ear. Kirkwood heard indistinctly his own
name followed by Calendar's, and the words: "Never fear. I'll point him
out."

"But the woman?" argued the detective, unconvinced, staring into the cab.

"Am I not at liberty to have a lady dine with me in a public restaurant?"
interposed Kirkwood, without raising his voice.

The hard eyes looked him up and down without favor. Then: "Beg pardon, sir.
I see my mistake," said the detective brusquely.

"I am glad you do," returned Kirkwood grimly. "I fancy it will bear
investigation."

He mounted the step. "Imperial Theater," he told the driver, giving the
first address that occurred to him; it could be changed. For the moment
the main issue was to get the girl out of the range of the detective's
interest.

He slipped into his place as the hansom wheeled into the turgid tide of
west-bound traffic.

So Calendar had escaped, after all! Moreover, he had told the truth to
Kirkwood.