brakes, squeaking of thousands of springs and joints, braying and shrilling of horns—
“By Jove!” said a calm voice at Val’s elbow, “you would think they cost a nickel apiece.” Val nodded.
“You were saying⸺” he began tentatively, turning to his companion.
“That I had something to say to you,” completed the other. “Well, I have. It’s about Miss Pomeroy—and things connected with her. Through a curious series of events, Mr. Morley, you have—to a certain extent—been drawn into matters concerning Miss Pomeroy—and myself. These affairs can be of no interest to you⸺”
“You’re impertinent, sir,” interrupted Val, turning and looking at his companion squarely. The other met his eye, gaze for gaze.
“You wouldn’t say so, if you knew the circumstances. But I am not here to discuss them with you. You have seen Miss Pomeroy—I know you are to see her again.” He paused for a moment.
“What if I am?” queried Val, calmly. “I’m not in the habit of permitting strangers to censor my calling list. You⸺”
“Only this,” went on the man who had no hands calmly. “It would not be advisable for you to keep up your acquaintance with Miss Pomeroy, or to see her again. It will be well for you to withdraw from all the affairs surrounding her⸺”
“Are you threatening me?” Val asked this softly, but his tone was of ice, cold and brittle.
The other took his hands from his pockets—his stumps, rather, and held them up in front of him, misshapen and grotesque.
“Nonsense,” he burst out. “How can I, a helpless
