He was seated on the lazy, pillowed sofa on which Violet had fallen asleep so soon after her arrival in this house. He was in evening-clothes that served him, on the East Side, much as the advertised portraits of certain patent-medicine makers serve their proprietors, the flaccid whiteness of his face still bearing traces of past beauty, the weakness of his mouth hidden by his crisp, short, brown mustache, and his heavy lids concealing the secret of his steel-gray eyes. He half rose as she entered, but she motioned him to sit still. "Hello!" she said, with the easy manner of the house, which always seemed to presuppose a previous acquaintance. "Have you ordered anything? I'm terribly dry." He took her hand and caught her meaning, "So am I, Miss Violet," he answered. "Let's have something." Violet turned to the servant. "Cassie," she said, "bring up a couple of bottles." She waited for the door to close, and then sat down beside Dyker. "Speak low," she cautioned. "That girl will listen if she can. You'll have to pretend to be making love to me." Dyker regarded her with smiling approval. Her blue eyes shone with excitement and red blood fought through the rouge on cheek and fully ripe mouth. "What you ask will be both easy and pleasant," he answered. "No, no; none of that. This is no time for bluffing. Put your arm around my shoulder. That way. Now then, you heard what I told you in the hall?" Dyker, with his type's disinclination to take seriously anything that any woman has to say upon serious matters, smiled assent. "You seem to have been doing some listening yourself," he said, as his lingers tightened unnecessarily upon her shoulder. "Yes, I did, and it's lucky for you I did it. Will you promise not to give me away?" "Of course I promise." "Not even to Miss Rose?" "Not even to Rosie." "And if I help you, will you do me a favor?" "To look at you I should say that I'd do you any favor you asked, and do it without expecting anything in return." His pale lips were curled in a half-scoffing smile, but Violet's next words brushed from his flaccid face all traces of amusement. "You remember that night you told Miss Rose about what you wanted to get at the next election? You said you were afraid of O'Malley giving you the double cross." Dyker stiffened. "Did you hear that?" he demanded. "Hush! Keep your voice down, or I won't tell you nothing of what I know. Remember you're supposed to be making love to me." "All right, all right; but I want an answer to my question." "Well, then, of course, I heard it. I was at the keyhole there--that's why I want you to whisper now.--And I heard more." "What was that?" "Wait a minute. You'll do me a favor if I tell you?" "Anything," he smiled. "But this is business. If I tell you something that it's worth your while to know, will you promise not to blow on me to Miss Rose?" "I promise." "And to do something more that I'll ask you?"