It was the second night after Farriss had given them his instructions that Miss Donovan and Willis, sitting in the last darkened booth in Steinway's Cafe, were rewarded for their vigil.

The booth they occupied was selected for the reason that it immediately joined that into which Willis had but three days before seen Cavendish and the La Rue woman enter, and now as they sat toying with their food, their eyes commanding the entire room, they saw a woman swing into the cafe entrance and enter the booth directly ahead of them.
"La Rue!" whispered Willis to Miss Donovan.
Ten minutes later a young man entered the cafe, swept it quickly with his eyes, then made directly for the enclosure occupied by his inamorata.

The man was Cavendish.
In the booth behind.

Miss Donovan and Willis were all attention, their ears strained to catch the wisps of conversation that eddied over the low partition.
"Pray for the orchestra to stop playing," whispered Miss Donovan, and, strangely enough, as she uttered the words the violins obeyed, leaving the room comparatively quiet in which it was not impossible to catch stray sentences of the subdued conversation.
"Well, I'm here." It was John's voice, an ill-humoured voice, too.
"But this is the last time, Celeste.

These meetings are dangerous." "Yes--when you talk so loud." Her soft voice scarcely reached the listeners.