s suddenly developed. In other words, it is none of his
affair. To look was one thing, to follow, to precipitate one's head into
the unknown, was another. And there were no police about; they were on
the Casino terraces, or strolling through the gardens, or patrolling the
railway station.

Past the park the quartet ran, and took the first turn to the left for a
block or more. Then came a stretch of darkness, between one electric
lamp and another. And then, as if whisked away by magic, the foremost
woman disappeared. The other halted, breathless and wondering. She
started again, but a moment too late. The Italian caught her roughly by
the arm and with a quick movement tore aside the veil.

"Kitty Killigrew!" Hillard cried.

He sprang forward, grasped the Italian by the shoulders and whirled him
round in no gentle manner. The Italian struck out savagely and
fearlessly, but Hillard seized his arm and held it firmly. There was a
short tableau. Each man could hear the breathing of the other, quick and
deep. The devil gleamed in the Italian's eyes, but there was a menace
Hillard's equally strong.

"You meddling figure of a dog!"

"Take care lest the dog bite, signore."

"Release my arm and stand aside!"

"Presently. Now, that way is yours," said Hillard, pointing in the
direction of the way they had come.

"Are you certain?" The Italian regulated his breathing, forcing down the
beat of his heart.

"So certain that if you do not obey me, I shall call the police and let
you explain to them."

"I should like nothing better," replied the Italian, with a coolness
which dumfounded Hillard.

"Do you know these ladies?"

"Do you?" insolently.

"My knowing them does not matter. But it is any gentleman's concern when
a man gives pursuit to a lady who does not wish to meet him, even in
Monte Carlo."

"A lady? Grace of Mary, that is droll!"

Hillard released the imprisoned arm, consciously chilled by the tone.
There was a patent raillery, a quizzical insolence, which convinced
Hillard that the Italian had not given chase out of an idle purpose.
While this idea was forming in his mind, the Italian inspected his cuff,
brushed his sleeve, and then recalled that he was bareheaded. He laughed
shortly.

"We shall meet again," he said softly.

"I hope not," replied Hillard frankly, at the same time placing himself
so as to block any sudden attempt to take up the chase. "However, you
may find me at the Hotel de Londres."