At length he spoke.  And all he was able to say was: 

“Maggie.”

She whirled about, and telephone and receiver almost fell from her hands.  She went pale, and stared at him, her mouth agape, her dark eyes wide.

“La-Larry!” she whispered.

“Maggie!” he said again.

“La-Larry!  I thought you were in Chicago.”

“I’m here now, Maggie—­especially to see you.”  He did not know it, but his voice was husky.  He noted that she was still holding the telephone and receiver.  “It was I who put in that long-distance call.  But I came instead.  So you might as well hang up.”

She obeyed, and set the instrument upon its little table.

“Larry—­where have you been all this while?”

He was now conscious enough to note that there was tense concern in her manner.  He exulted at it, and crossed and took her hand.

“Right here in New York, Maggie.”

“In hiding?”

“In mighty good hiding.”

“But, Larry—­don’t you know it’s dangerous for you to come out?  And to come here of all places?”

“I couldn’t help myself.  I simply had to see you, Maggie.”

He was still holding her hand, and there was an instinctive grip of her fingers about his.  For a moment—­the moment during which her outer or more conscious self was startled into forgetfulness—­they gazed at each other silently and steadily, eye into eye.

And then the things the Duchess had said crept back into his mind, and he said: 

“Maggie, I’ve come to take you out of all this.  Get ready—­let’s leave at once.”

That broke the spell.  She jerked away from him, and instantly she was the old Maggie:  the Maggie who had jeered at him and defied him the night of his return from prison when he had announced his new plan—­ the Maggie who had flaunted him as “stool” and “squealer” the evening she had left the Duchess’s to enter upon this new career.

“No, you’re not going to take me out of this!” she flung at him.  “I told you once before that I wasn’t going your way!  I told you that I was going my own way!  That held for then, and it holds for now, and it will hold for always!”

The softer mood which had come upon him by surprise at sight of her and filled him, now gave way to grim determination.  “Yes, you are coming my way—­sometime, if not now!  And now if I can make you!”

Their embattled gazes gripped each other.  But now Larry was seeing more than just Maggie.  He was also taking in the room.  It was close kin to the room in which he had left Miss Grierson:  ornate, undistinguished, and very expensive.  He noted one slight difference:  a tiny hallway giving on the corridor, its inner door now opened.

But the greatest difference was what he saw over Maggie’s smooth white shoulders:  a table all set with china and glass and silver, and arranged for five.

“Maggie, what’s this game you’re up to?” he demanded.