difficulty. She hesitated, and then motioned the waiter to withdraw.
Mr. Hoopdriver watched the door shut. He had intended to step out into the middle of the room, fold his arms and say, "You are in trouble. I am a Friend. Trust me." Instead of which he stood panting and then spoke with sudden familiarity, hastily, guiltily: "Look here. I don't know what the Juice is up, but I think there's something wrong. Excuse my intruding—if it isn't so. I'll do anything you like to help you out of the scrape—if you're in one. That's my meaning, I believe. What can I do? I would do anything to help you."
Her brow puckered, as she watched him make, with infinite emotion, this remarkable speech. "You!" she said. She was tumultuously weighing possibilities in her mind, and he had scarcely ceased when she had made her resolve.
She stepped a pace forward. "You are a gentleman," she said.
"Yes," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Can I trust you?"
She did not wait for his assurance. "I must leave this hotel at once. Come here."
She took his arm and led him to the window. "You can just see the gate. It is still open.
