They showed scant interest as De Luxe Dora, unaccompanied for once, swept into the place.  Dora was gorgeously and flashily dressed and fairly scintillated with jewels.  She seated herself not far from the door and ordered a cocktail.  Then she whistled a bar of music suggestively to the piano-player, who immediately caught it, and the “orchestra” with a show of animation strummed out her suggestion.  She sent over drinks for them and was rewarded with more song hits.

Jauntily now Paul came in.  A couple of men roused themselves and slouched over to him.  They held a whispered conversation, and Paul was insistent on some point.  He evidently had his way, for the men slunk back to their places and, sprawling out, were in a moment as listless as before.

Paul nodded to Dora in greeting, but she turned her back.  He gave a low whistle of astonishment and went over to her.

“Say, Dora, why the grouch?” he asked.

For a moment she disdained to answer and glared at him witheringly.  Then she blurted out, “You’re throwing me down for that baby face with the money!”

Paul gave a short laugh and shrugged his shoulders.  “Don’t be silly,” he laughed.  “She’ll be our meal-ticket.”

He sat down, and over a couple more cocktails he had Dora quite mollified.

A few moments later Locke entered and slipped quickly into a chair, since he did not wish to be seen.  In his hand he carried a newspaper which he now unfolded and held up in front of him so that it hid his face.  Next he poked a hole through the center of the sheet so that he could see without being seen.

At this moment, seemingly in all earnestness, Paul and Dora resumed their quarrel, and Dora’s strident voice echoed through the cafe.

“If you throw me down you’d better look out,” she bawled.

Paul jumped up, and for a moment it looked as though he would strike her.  But he changed his mind, cursed her, and finally stalked out of the cafe.

Locke folded his paper, paid his bill to the sleepy waiter, and started after Paul.  At the entrance he stopped, thought a moment, and then went directly to Dora’s table and sat down.

“Why, what are you doing here?” she gasped, in great surprise.  “Don’t you know that you may be killed?”

“It’s a risk that I must run,” replied Locke.  “But tell me—­you tried to kill me once—­why?”

“Because I was a fool, controlled by my love for Paul Balcom—­the beast!  I hate him!”

Dora drank viciously, then, with jealous venom, leaned over to Locke, and asked, “If that girl, Eva Brent, finds out about him, will she throw him over?”

Locke played the game diplomatically, and apparently succeeded in further incensing Dora against her lover, for, suddenly she jumped up.

“Meet me here in an hour.  I’ll have everything arranged to spoil Paul Balcom’s game,” she whispered, as she swept out of the cafe with demi-mondaine majesty.