"Here," he bellowed to some of his servitors, "take this damn hell-cat out of here. Take her up to the hotel. If she won't go to bed, throw her into the street." "You--you--" gasped the girl, struggling to her feet. "Don't talk back to me," roared Anson, "or I'll kill you. I'll show you what you are and who's running this place." Then to the waiters: "Get her out of here." The girl was dragged out of the room, screaming and fighting. A wisp of curses came back into the big room as she was lugged up the stairs towards the hotel. Anson stood panting with anger. A mail carrier entered and placed a letter in his hand. He opened and read: "Mr. Carter Anson: Take your choice. Close the Cafe Sinister, or I'll see that it is closed. Mary Randall." The big man flushed crimson with rage. He tried to speak, but the words choked in his throat. He crumpled the letter and hurled it with a curse across the room. "Druce," he bellowed. Druce hurried across the room. "Did you see that?" "Yes, I saw you beat her up. Why don't you let 'em alone? You'll kill one of them some of these days." "Naw, not her. I mean the letter. Mary Randall--she says she's going to close us." A waiter recovered the letter and brought it to Druce. He read it. "Say, listen, are you turning yellow--" "No, I ain't yellow," returned Anson, "but this thing is getting my goat. You're sure about that lease?" "Sure?--say, I thought we'd settled that--" "Well," pursued Anson, "I don't like this. What have you done with this other girl--the one you married? She'll be getting us into a row next." "I married her, didn't I?" "Yes, but--" "Well, it's about time she started earning her bread. This Randall woman hasn't got me scared. You know why I married her. Well, I'm going through with it. I--" The rest of his sentence died on his lips. A girl scarcely more than a child came in from the hotel entrance. She was dressed in a lacey gown, a size too large for her. The slit skirt displayed her slim ankles in pink silk stockings. The French heeled shoes were decorated with rhinestone buckles. In spite of this outrageous dress she was still pretty. It was Elsie Welcome. "Hello, kid," said Druce, his manner changing. "I want to see you, Martin," Elsie replied. Druce noticed that she seemed deeply agitated. There were signs of recently shed tears on her cheeks. "I'll run along," said Anson, seeing the girl's agitation. When he was gone Druce drew the girl into a booth and demanded sharply: "What the devil do you want and how did you get here?" "I came in a taxicab," the girl answered. "A taxi, eh? Well, you're learning. Who paid for it?" "It isn't paid for, Martin. I wanted to see you and--" "And what?" "The man's waiting outside." Druce flushed angrily. "Look here," he demanded. "Don't play me for a boob. Get someone else to pay your taxi bills." "But, Martin, I thought--"