"I gave up my lodgings this morning, packed everything, and came here, rather scared." A little flush came over her face and she lifted her dark eyes and met Westmore's intent gaze. "You are very kind," she said. "My trunks are at the Grand Central Station--if you desire to make up my disconcerted mind for me. Do you really want me to come here and stay a few days?"
"I won't _let_ you go!" he said. "I'm worried sick about you!" And to Barres, who sat slightly amazed at his friend's warmth:
"Do you suppose any of those dirty dogs have traced the trunks?"
"I've never yet been able to conceal anything from them."
"Probably, then," said Barres, "they have traced your luggage and are watching it."
"Give me your checks, anyway," said Westmore. "I'll go at once and get your baggage and bring it here. If they're watching for you it will jolt them to see a man on the job."
Barres nodded approval; Thessalie opened her purse and handed Westmore the checks.
"You both are so kind," she murmured. "I have not felt so sheltered, so secure in many, many months."
Westmore, extremely red again, controlled his emotions--whatever they were--with a visible effort:
"Don't worry for one moment," he said. "Garry and I are going to settle this outrageous business for you. Now, I'm off to find your trunks. And if you could give me a description of any of these fellows who follow you about----"
"Please--you are not to beat up anybody!" she reminded him, with a troubled smile.
"I think one of them is a tall, bony, one-eyed man, who has been hanging around here pretending to peddle artists' materials."
Thessalie made a quick gesture of assent and of caution:
"Yes! His name is Max Freund. I have found it impossible to conceal my whereabouts from him. This man, with only one eye, appears to be a friend of the superintendent, Soane. I am not certain that Soane himself is employed by this gang of blackmailers, but I believe that his one-eyed friend may pay him for any scraps of information concerning me."
"Then we had better keep an eye on Soane," growled Westmore. "He's no good; he'll take graft from anybody."
"Where is his daughter, Dulcie?" asked Thessalie. "Is she not your model, Garry?"
"Yes. She's in my room now, lying down. This morning it was pretty hot in here, and Dulcie fainted on the model stand."
