ng with jealousy.
"Grimmie, you act as if you were doped. Introduce us to your swell
friend. Wake him, Reg Warren."

Helene's jeweled white hand protected the safety-first dozing of her
companion, as, through the interstices of his fingers, he studied the
inscrutable difference between the face of Warren and the other youths
about them.

"Let Pop dream of a new way to make a million!" laughed one young man.
"His money grows while he sleeps."

"Yes, let him dream on," laughed Helene, with a shrill giggle. "When he
makes that extra million he can star me on Broadway, in my own show. He,
he!"

"You'll have to spend half of it at John the Barber's getting your voice
marceled and your face manicured," snarled Pinkie. "Come, Reg, and dance
with me: these bounders bore me."

"Run along, Pinkie, and fox-trot your grouch away with Shine Taylor.
Here comes the wine I ordered--What's your name, girlie? Where did you
meet Grimsby?"

"Oh, we're old friends," and Helene maliciously spilled a bottle over
the interrogator's waistcoat, as she reached forward to shake his hand.
"My name's Bonbon, you wouldn't believe me if I told you my real name,
anyway. Who are you?"

"I'm not Neptune," he retorted, as he mopped the bubbles with a napkin.
"You've started in badly." Shirley mentally disagreed. His stupor still
obsessed him, but he noted with interest that Warren paid the check
for his bottle with a new one-hundred dollar bill. Warren could elicit
nothing from Helene but silly laughter, and so he arose impatiently,
as Shine Taylor returned to whisper something in his ear. "I must be
getting back to my apartment. Bring Grimsby up to it to-night: a little
bromo will bring him back to the land of the living. I'll have a jolly
crowd there--top floor of the Somerset, on Fifty-sixth Street, you know,
near Sixth Avenue. Come up after the show."

"We're going to the Winter Garden," suggested Helene, at a nudge from
Shirley, and Warren nodded.

"I'll try to see you later, anyway. Goodbye!"

Losing interest in the proceedings, as the time for reckoning the bill
approached, the other gallants followed these two. Alone, again, Shirley
ordered some black coffee, and smiled at his assistant.

"He told the truth for once."

"What do you mean?"

"He will try to see us later. That man is a member of the murderous
clan whom we seek. 'To-night is the night' for the exit of William
Grimsby--but, perhaps we may have a stage wait which will