'fatal secret.' The subplot developing within
my mind is still nebulous with me,--you would lose all interest, as
would I, if you knew what was going to happen. But the time has passed,
and now we can go to the theatre. I bought the tickets by messenger
this afternoon. I will let you do the talking to the chauffeur and the
usher."

They left the tea-room, the last guests out.

It was a touching sight to see the elderly gentleman supported on one
side by a fat French waiter, and on the opposite, by the solicitous
girl. The old Civil War wound was unusually troublesome.

CHAPTER X. WHEN IT'S DARK IN THE PARK

At the entrance of the restaurant the starter tooted his shrill whistle,
and a driver began to crank his automobile in the waiting line of cars.
According to the rules of the taxi stands he was next in order. But, as
is frequently the custom in the hotly contested district of "good fares"
another car "cut in" from across the street. This taxi swung quickly
around and drew up before the waiting criminologist.

Grunting and mumbling, as though still deep in his cups, Monty allowed
himself to be half pushed, half lifted into the car by the attendant.
Helene followed him. "Winter Garden," she directed, and the machine sped
away, while the thwarted driver in the rear sent a volley of anathemas
after his successful competitor.

Shirley scrutinized the interior of the machine, but there seemed
nothing to distinguish it from the thousands of other piratical craft
which pillage the public with the aid of the taximeter clock on the
port beam! Soon they were at the big Broadway playhouse, where Shirley
floundered out first, after the ungallant manner of many sere-and-yellow
beaux. He swayed unsteadily, teetering on his cane, as Helene leaped
lightly to the sidewalk beside him. The driver stood by the door of the
car, leering at him.

"Here, keep the change," and Shirley handed him a generous bill.

"Shall I wait fer ye, gov'nor? I ain't got no call to-night. I'll be
around here all evening."

The criminologist nodded, and the chauffeur handed Helene the carriage
number check.

"Don't let 'em steal de old gink, inside, girlie. He's strong fer de
chorus chickens."

Helene shuddered before the hawk-like glare of his malevolent eyes, but
in her part, she shook her head with a laugh, and followed airily after
her escort.

"Good-evening, sir. Back again to-night, I see," volunteered the ticket
taker, to whom W