I
wondered how and where Haddon had disappeared. Had the powers of
evil in the city learned that he was weakening and hurried him out
of the way at the last moment? Just what had Loraine Keith to do
with it? Was she in any way responsible? I felt that there were,
indeed, no bounds to what a jealous woman might dare.
Beside the ornate grilled doorway of the carriage entrance of the
Mayfair stood a gilt-and-black easel with the words, "Tango Tea at
Four." Although it was considerably after that time, there was a
line of taxi-cabs before the place and, inside, a brave array of
late-afternoon and early-evening revellers. The public dancing had
ceased, and a cabaret had taken its place.
We entered and sat down at one of the more inconspicuous of the
little round tables. On a stage, at one side, a girl was singing
one of the latest syncopated airs.
"We'll just stick around a while, Walter," whispered Craig.
"Perhaps this Loraine Keith will come in."
Behind us, protected both by the music and the rustle of people
coming and going, a couple talked in low tones.
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