The Masked Woman. Johnston McCulley

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      “Very good. You’ll have need of evening dress regularly for some time,” Mme. Madcap answered.

      Sambo, who had his orders, drove quickly through the well-lit streets and finally drew up before the brilliant entrance of a famous café. The professor and Mme. Madcap stepped out. Sambo drove the limousine a few yards away from the café entrance and stopped at the curb.

      Prof. Salwick knew little about cafés. Two or three times in his career he had visited such places, but generally those of the quieter sort, and only for afternoon tea. But he threw back his shoulders, glared at the doorman, and with Mme. Madcap on his arm, stepped inside briskly.

      The professor handed his hat and coat and Mme. Madcap’s cloak to the check boy. And then Prof. Salwick offered his arm again, and Mme. Mad­cap accepted it, and they swept past the astonished clerks and flower girls and into the main room of the café.