The Chevalier shook his head, an odd look in his black eyes.
“I once knew a girl like you,” he said softly. “Very much like you. It
is strange.”
“Will you excuse me?” I broke in. Jack Hardy was leaving the bar.
Quickly I followed him.
I touched his shoulder as he went out the French windows. He jerked out
a startled oath, turned a white death-mask of a face to me.
“Damn you, Mart,” he snarled. “Keep your hands to yourself.”