But she eluded him, and made for the little door of the cabinet particulier, he at her skirt--and Clifford just behind them. What they all saw was a tricksy, ornate room, lighted with imitation electric candles; Jack now toppled forward limp and unconscious among the dishes; and about the table Nina Cordova, Hilton, that polished adventurer of the smart hotels, and Nan Burdette, high-colored, bold-eyed café favorite. Mary moved inside, Loveman at her heels. But Clifford remained without, waiting. The situation was Mary’s--for her to face, for her to reveal herself by. Mary stepped quickly forward and shook Jack’s shoulder. “Jack--wake up! Come on out of this!” Jack, a limp weight, showed no life, but the other three did. Nan Burdette sprang up. “Stop that! What d’you think you’re doing?” Mary flamed at her--and at Nina Cordova--and at Hilton. “I’m going to take him away from you blood-suckers,” she said with cold fury. “You call me that--” the café beauty was beginning angrily, when Nina Cordova, the petite, rose and checked her. “Shut up, Nan!” She leaned toward Mary, and spoke cuttingly, “Why, if it isn’t the little dame that Jack lived with, and got tired of, and then gave the grand shake. Well, little one, what are you going to do with your darling sweetheart who loves you so much that he’s run away to avoid the sight of you?” Mary’s voice was chokingly composed. She returned the other’s ironical gaze with a glare of contempt. “I’m going to take him away from you people--to where he can sober up--have a chance to think about it all--become himself. That’s what I’m going to do.” “And what good’ll that do you?” pursued Nina cuttingly--“since he’s all through with you?” “What he thinks of me has nothing to do with the case,” Mary returned. “Mary, it’s no use--keep out of this!” cried little Loveman. He took her arm to draw her away, but she shook him off. “I’m going to do exactly what I said I’d do. Come on, Jack.” “No, you’re not!” Nina cried, suddenly sharp and venomous, leaning farther across the table. “You just try to start anything like that and I’ll tell the Mortons who you really are--_Miss Mary Regan_!” Hilton, finished gentleman of hotel, café, and ballroom, had moved around the table to her side. “And start anything, and _I’ll_ tell what I know,” he said in a hard voice, his hands twitching. “And it’ll be something besides what Miss Cordova will tell. I believe you get me, Mrs. Mary Regan Grayson!” “And we won’t put off telling till to-morrow!” cried Nina Cordova. She moved quickly to a little wall telephone, tinted in gray-and-gold to match the room, and took down the receiver. “Give me the Biltmore.... The Biltmore? Connect me with Mr. Morton.... Mr. Morton, this is Miss Cordova. Will you please hold the wire a moment.” She muffled the mouthpiece with a palm and turned upon Mary. “Get out of this--or your finish will come in just one second!”