"She accused you to me," I said.
Jerry nodded. "I've seen the papers. You'll see something else to-night. Win Scofield's widow has her money; and Harry Vine, my friend and yours, Steve—Keeban, we called him—he's saving his face. At the Flamingo Feather, the affair will be."
"Flamingo Feather?"
"You don't know it? Well, neither did I a few weeks ago. I dreamed, no more than you, that such a spot existed; yet to-night it's my place of fate. For 'my friend's' friends go there to-night, Steve, to see what he can show them. It's a date; he's got to be present. The Flamingo Feather's a hall, Steve—one of those halls that the police raid with the reserves in force, with half a dozen wagons, or leave severely alone. There's a masque ball on there to-night—with fancy figures and favors. There's a celebration on, you see; and something to expect."
"You going?"
"I? He'll be there, I said. Do you want to chance it, Steve?"
