EIGHT-THIRTY They stood in silence, listening to the footsteps of Marcelle on the parquet floor of the passage.

The outer door was opened, and a murmur of voices reached them indistinctly.
"I have had the honor of knowing you not much longer than ten minutes, Miss Grandison," said Curtis, and the strong, vibrant note in his voice might well have won any woman's confidence, "but if you feel that you can trust me, and my help is of value, please command me, that is, if your enemies are men." She rewarded him with one swift look of gratitude.
"If it is my father, both you and I are powerless," she whispered.
"And the other would not dare come without him." A discreet tap on the door heralded Marcelle.

That sprightly young person, despite her Parisian name, was unquestionably American in every inch of her self-possessed neatness; she smiled at Curtis while giving him a message.
"The driver of your taxi has sent up the hall-porter to ask if you wish him to wait any longer," she said.
Not often, even in comedy, has the mountain heaved and brought forth such a ridiculous mouse.

Curtis did actually laugh; even his distraught companion tittered in sheer nervous reaction.
"Please tell him to wait, and not to worry about the fare," said Curtis.

"I suppose," he added, turning to Miss Grandison, "the man put me down as a newcomer, and, taught by previous experience, thought it best to warn me how the register mounts." The effort to restore their rather strained relations to a sedate level was well meant, but the girl's downcast eyes and tremulous lips revealed a state of piteous uncertainty and confusion that was more distressing to Curtis than anything which had gone before.
Nevertheless, reminding himself that precious time was being wasted, he determined to seek a full explanation of circumstances which at present savored of Bedlam.
"Now that the fears of the taxi-driver have been stilled," he said cheerfully, "suppose you and I sit down and discuss matters like sensible people.