Chapter 19 - Page 2

hesitated, and a slight flush stole into his cheeks. "I've become acquainted with his wife--we're good friends."

"And what have you learned from her?"

"Nothing directly; but I think she's acting as her husband's agent, collecting blackmail to hire lawyers for the defense. Poor Caesar! he's rich, and Poggi is bleeding him. Since Joe is on the police force he knows every thing that goes on. No wonder you can't break up the Mafia!"

"By Jove!" said Norvin. "I was warned of a leak in the department. But it couldn't be Poggi!"

He began to question Bernie with a peremptoriness and rapidity that made the little man blink. Mingled with much that was grotesque and irrelevant, he drew out a fairly credible story of nocturnal meetings between the Italian detective and Caesar Maruffi, which, taken in connection with what he already knew, was most disturbing.

"How did you come to meet Mrs. Poggi?" he inquired, at last.

The question brought that same flush to Mr. Dreux's cheeks.

"She found I was following her one day," he explained, "so I told her I was smitten by her beauty. I got away with it, too. Rather clever, for an amateur, eh?"

"Is she good-looking?"

Bernie nodded. "She's an outrageous flirt, though, and--oh, what a temper!" He shuddered nervously. "Why, she'd stick a knife into me or bite my ears off if she suspected. She's insanely jealous."

"It's not a nice position for you."

"No. But I've something far worse than her on my hands--Felicite. She's more to be feared than the Mafia."

"Surely Miss Delord isn't dangerous."

"Isn't she?" mocked the bachelor. "You ought to see--" He started, his eyes fixed themselves upon the entrance to the cafe with a look of horror, he paled and cast a hurried glance around as if in search of a means of escape. "Here she is now!"

Norvin turned to behold Miss Delord approaching them like an arrow. She was a tiny creature, but it was plain that she was out in all her fighting strength. Her pretty face was dark with passion, her eyes were flashing, and they pierced her lover with a terrible glance as she paused before him, crying furiously:

"Well? Where is she?"

"Felicite," stammered Dreux, "d-don't cause a scene."

Miss Delord stamped a ridiculously small foot and cried again, oblivious of all save her black jealousy:

"Where is she, I say? Eh? You fear to answer. You shield her, perhaps." A plump brown hand darted forth and seized Bernie by the ear, giving it a tweak like the bite of a parrot.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, loudly. "Felicite, you'll ruin us!"

A waiter began to laugh in