ng. You're hurting the house."

The girl looked up at the dive keeper with dull eyes.

"Hurting the house, eh?" she echoed. "What about me? Think I ain't
hurting myself? Say, it's got so I'd rather be drunk than sober. I can't
stand to be sober. I always start thinking. Some of these days you'll
hear of me walking out of this place and making a dent in the lake--"

The negro returned with the drug. The girl seized it with trembling
hands. While the two men stood and looked she drew a small lancet from
the bosom of her dress, inserted its point under the skin of her white
forearm and drove a few drops of the drug into the vein. The effect was
instantaneous. She laughed loudly.

"Now, you get to bed," ordered Anson.

"Bed, hell," retorted the girl.

"I said get to bed." Anson glowered at her.

"There'll be a big night tonight, and--"

"You can't give me no orders."

Anson had held in his temper as long as he was able. His fierce eyes
twinkled and his brutal mouth twitched. Without a word he reached across
the table, clutched the girl by the throat and dragged her out of her
seat. He hurled her, half strangled, on the floor.

"Here," he bellowed to some of his servitors, "take this damn hell-cat
out of here. Take her up to the hotel. If she won't go to bed, throw her
into the street."

"You--you--" gasped the girl, struggling to her feet.

"Don't talk back to me," roared Anson, "or I'll kill you. I'll show you
what you are and who's running this place." Then to the waiters: "Get her
out of here."

The girl was dragged out of the room, screaming and fighting. A wisp of
curses came back into the big room as she was lugged up the stairs
towards the hotel.

Anson stood panting with anger. A mail carrier entered and placed a
letter in his hand. He opened and read:

"Mr. Carter Anson: Take your choice. Close the Cafe Sinister, or I'll see
that it is closed. Mary Randall."

The big man flushed crimson with rage. He tried to speak, but the words
choked in his throat. He crumpled the letter and hurled it with a curse
across the room.

"Druce," he bellowed.

Druce hurried across the room.

"Did you see that?"

"Yes, I saw you beat her up. Why don't you let 'em alone? You'll kill one
of them some of these days."

"Naw, not her. I mean the letter. Mary Randall--she says she's going to
close us." A waiter recovered the letter and brought it to Druce. He read
it.

"Say, listen, are you turning yellow--"