"Frisk him!" he panted; Venem nimbly relieved him of the dull black
weapon.
"Can the fake gun-play, Eddie," he said, coolly shoving aside the
porter who attempted to interfere. "You're double-crossed. We got the
goods on you; come on; who's the girl?"
The woman who had struck Brandes now came up again beside Venem. She
was young, very pretty, but deathly white except for the patches of
cosmetic on either cheek. She pointed at Brandes. There was blood on
her soiled and split glove: "You dirty dog!" she said unsteadily. "You'll marry this girl before
I've divorced you, will you? And you think you are going to get away
with it! You dog! You dirty dog!"
The porter attempted to interfere again, but Venem shoved him out of
the way. Brandes, still silently struggling to free his imprisoned
arms, ceased twisting suddenly and swung his heavy head toward Venem.
His hat had fallen off; his face, deeply flushed with exertion, was
smeared with blood and sweat.
"What's the idea, you fool!" he said in a low voice. "I'm not married
to her."
But Ruhannah heard him say it.
"You claim that you haven't married this girl?" demanded Venem loudly,
motioning toward Rue, who stood swaying, half dead, held fast by the
gathering crowd which pushed around them from every side.
"Did you marry her or did you fake it?" repeated Venem in a louder
voice. "It's jail one way; maybe both!"
"He married her in Gayfield at eleven this morning!" said the
chauffeur. "Parson Smawley turned the trick."
Brandes' narrow eyes glittered; he struggled for a moment, gave it up,
shot a deadly glance at Maxy Venem, at his wife, at the increasing
throng crowding closely about him. Then his infuriated eyes met Rue's,
and the expression of her face apparently crazed him.
Frantic, he hurled himself backward, jerking one arm free, tripped,
fell heavily with the chauffeur on top, twisting, panting, struggling
convulsively, while all around him surged the excited crowd, shouting,
pressing closer, trampling one another in eagerness to see.
Rue, almost swooning with fear, was pushed, jostled, flung aside.
Stumbling over her own suitcase, she fell to her knees, rose, and,
scarce conscious of what she was about, caught up her suitcase and
reeled away into the light-shot darkness.
She had no idea of what she was doing or where she was going; the
terror of the scene still remained luridly before her eyes; the
shouting of the crowd was in her ears; an indescribable fear of
Brandes filled her--a growing horror of this man who had denied that
he had married her. And the instinct of a frightened and bewildered
child drove her into blind flight, anywhere to escape this hideous,
incomprehensible scene behind her.
Hurrying on, alternately confused and dazzled in the patches of
darkness and flaring light, clutched at and followed by a terrible
fear, she found herself halted on the curbstone of an avenue through
which lighted tramcars were passing. A man spoke to her, came closer;
and she turned desperately and hurried across a street where other
people were crossing.