ng out." He took a last look toward the dance floor and
pushed his boss through the curtains toward the outer lobby.

The music behind them stopped. The lights in the dining room blinked
out and a woman screamed somewhere in the darkness. Adams didn't wait
to find out what had happened. He pushed Drake along the hall toward
the coat room. Beside the tall youngster, Adams assumed all the
importance of a harbor tug heaving away at an ocean-going liner.

Mary, the checkroom girl, was waiting. When midnight brought Drake
from his whiskey, the girl had learned to expect a lavish tip. She
looked at Puffy with a puzzled smile.

"What's wrong in there?"

"Revolution," he answered shortly. "Light went out. Lardner probably
forgot to pay the light bill."

Jim Drake fumbled uncertainly in his pocket and brought out a numbered
ticket.

"Coat please," he said stiffly. "Coat please!"

He waved the ticket under Mary's nose.

She took the stub quickly and returned in a minute with a woman's
silver fox cape. It was a lavish, deeply rich fur.

"How long since you started wearing these things?" she asked and
pushed it across the counter.

"Hey!" Puffy grunted. "That ain't ours."

Drake clutched the fur protectively.

"Here--here," he cried. "My coat. Just grew whiskers. My coat just the
same."

Before Adams could stop him, Drake was lurching toward the door and
into the waiting arms of the doorman. Puffy tossed a bill on the
counter and Mary's eyes popped a fraction.

"We'll bring it back when he sobers up," he said quickly. "Must have
got the wrong number."

"Thanks!"

"Forget it." He went toward Drake and the grinning doorman. Rescuing
his drunken charge. Adams helped him across the walk toward the car.

"Come on, Cinderella. You got a date with the sandman."

Somewhere down State Street came the mournful howl of a siren.

"Whee!" Drake waved the fur in the air above his head. "Fire--want to
go to fire."

* * * * *

A crowd of patrons were pouring from the club behind them. With a
quick push Puffy deposited Drake in the streamlined coupe and rounded
the rear tires on the run. He jumped behind the wheel and turned the
key. Sirens were whining in close now.

The door slammed and a girl landed squarely on Drake's lap.

It was the dancing girl, Sylvia Fanton. Her face was flushed brightly
with fright.

"Whee!" Drake shouted gleefully. "The Angel herself. Where's the
Tiffany?"