Three evenings later Sam took Miss Luella London to a midnight supper at one of the town’s best restaurants. She knew the motive of his taking her, as he had been quite frank in the few minutes’ talk near the stage door of the theatre when the engagement was made. As they ate, they talked of the plays at the Chicago theatres, and Sam told her a story of an amateur performance that had once taken place in the hall over Geiger’s drug store in Caxton when he was boy. In the performance Sam had taken the rôle of a drummer boy killed on the field of battle by a swaggering villain in a grey uniform, and John Telfer, in the rôle of villain, had become so in earnest that, a pistol not exploding at a critical moment, he had chased Sam about the stage trying to hit him with the butt of the weapon while the audience roared with delight at the realism of Telfer’s rage and at the frightened boy begging for mercy. Luella London laughed heartily at Sam’s story and then, the coffee being served, she fingered the handle of the cup and a shrewd look came into her eyes. “And now you are a big business man and have come to see me about Colonel Rainey,” she said. Sam lighted a cigar. “Just how much are you counting on this marriage between yourself and the colonel?” he asked bluntly. The actress laughed and poured cream into her coffee. A line came and went on her forehead between her eyes. Sam thought she looked capable. “I have been thinking of what you told me at the stage door,” she said, and a childlike smile played about her lips. “Do you know, Mr. McPherson, I can’t just figure you. I can’t just see how you get into this. Where are your credentials, anyway?” Sam, keeping his eyes upon her face, took a jump into the dark. “It’s this way,” he said, “I’m something of an adventurer myself. I fly the black flag. I come from where you do. I had to reach out my hand and take what I wanted. I do not blame you in the least, but it just happens that I saw Colonel Tom Rainey first. He is my game and I do not propose to have you fooling around. I am not bluffing. You have got to get off him.” Leaning forward, he stared at her intently, and then lowered his voice. “I’ve got your record. I know the man you used to live with. He’s going to help me get you if you do not drop it.” Sitting back in his chair Sam watched her gravely. He had taken the odd chance to win quickly by a bluff and had won. But Luella London was not to be defeated without a struggle. “You lie,” she cried, half springing from her chair. “Frank has never--” “Oh yes, Frank has,” answered Sam, turning as though to call a waiter; “I will have him here in ten minutes if you wish to be shown.” Picking up a fork the woman began nervously picking holes in the table cloth and a tear appeared upon her cheek. She took a handkerchief from a bag that hung hooked over the back of a chair at the side of the table and wiped her eyes.