tion. Now that the incident was closed it was of small moment to them. It was not a thing of rare occurrence, anyway, to have the sodden hangers-on at the Silver Star aroused by a woman's scream.
So Steve went out and mingled familiarly with the men at the bar; laughed at their questionable jokes about his gallantry, tossed dice with them, drank with them, and bade them good-night with as much ease and carelessness as though his heart were not a seething whirlpool of murderous thought.
As for Mary Bradley, she hastened through the streets toward her home, her face burning with anger and humiliation. If she had disliked and hated Stephen Lamar before, she loathed him now. Then, suddenly, she remembered his threat against her and the rector. What did he mean by it? Murder? She paused in her swift pace, overcome by fear. Not fear for herself. It mattered little what vengeance he might choose to inflict on her. But was the man whom she loved in danger? Would this desperate, drink-crazed monster seek to carry out his threat against the rector of Christ Church? Was it not her duty to warn the intended victim? For one moment she stood irresolute, then she turned in her tracks and hastened back toward the center of the city.
