"I said you'd find it interesting." His voice was unchanged; she stared at him in complete bafflement. "Oh, Nick!" she exclaimed in suddenly softer tones. "What difference does it make? Didn't I say anywhere would do, so we went together?" She smiled at him. "This will do if you wish, though really, Honey, I'd prefer not." "I do wish it," the other said. "All right, Honey," said Pat the faintest trace of reluctance in her voice as she slipped from the car. "I stick to my bargains." She winced at the intensity of his grip as he took her arm to assist her. His fingers were like taunt wires biting into her flesh. "Nick!" she cried. "You're hurting me! You're bruising my arm!" He released her; she rubbed the spot ruefully, then followed him to the door of the mysterious establishment. The unharmonious jangle of the piano dinned abruptly louder as he swung the door open. Pat entered and glanced around her at the room revealed. Dull, smoky, dismal--not the least exciting or interesting as yet, she thought. A short bar paralleled one wall, behind which lounged a little, thin, nondescript individual with a small mustache. Half a dozen tables filled the remainder of the room; four or five occupied by the clientele of the place, as unsavory a group as the girl could recall having encountered on the hither side of the motion picture screen. Two women tittered as Nick entered; then with one accord, the eyes of the entire group fixed on Pat, where she stood drawing her wrap more closely about her, standing uncomfortably behind her escort. And the piano tinkled its discords in the far corner. "Same place," said Nick shortly to the bartender, ignoring the glances of the others. Pat followed him across the room to a door, into a hall, thence into a smaller room furnished merely with a table and four chairs. The nondescript man stood waiting in the doorway as Nick took her wrap and seated her in one of the chairs. "Quart," he said laconically, and the bartender disappeared. Pat stared intently, studiously, into the face of her companion. Nick's face, certainly; here in full light there was no trace of the red-eyed horror she had fancied out there in the semi-darkness of the street. Or was there? Now--when he turned, when the light struck his eyes at an angle, was that a glint of crimson? Still, the features were Nick's, only a certain grim intensity foreign to him lurked about the set of his mouth, the narrowed eye-lids. "Well!" she said. "So this is Paris! What are you trying to do--teach me capital L--life? And where do we dance?" "In here." "And what kind of quart was that you ordered? You know how little I drink, and I'm darned particular about even that little." "You'll like this." "I doubt it." "I said you'll like it," he reiterated in flat tones.