des Anglais, looking intently ahead, and behind, and to the side, and all around in the darkness. He seemed to be following a certain trail, however. At one side of the great wide walk, facing the ocean, was a canopied bandstand. In its dim shadow, he discerned a wisp of white. He made for it, swiftly, silently. Mazzetti’s voice low, eager, insistent. Mazzetti’s voice hoarse, ugly, importunate. The figure in white rose. Gor� stood before the two. The girl took a step toward him, but Mazzetti took two steps and snarled like a villain in a movie, if a villain in a movie could be heard to snarl.

“Get out of here!” said Mazzetti, in French, to Gor�. “You pig! Swine! To intrude when I talk with a lady. You are finished. Now she belongs to me.”

“The hell she does!”