No one was killed or seriously injured, fortunately for Alexander the Great's popularity. Many hands and faces were cut with window-glass; two or three women had bruises or sprained wrists, and the Italian bride and groom were objects for compassion.

Loveland and Tony Kidd had saved the situation. Nobody else seemed to have accomplished anything deserving praise; but, when calm followed storm, de Rocheverte, Milton, his friend Mason, and the two Hungarians vied with one another in volubly explaining each act and failure to act. They had wanted to make a way out for the ladies; that was why they had tried to get to the door, but they had been caught and overwhelmed in the crowd. They all talked fast and eagerly, almost convincingly; but the ladies, pale and shattered, listened without answering. And when they thanked Tony Kidd for "saving them from being burnt alive," they were careful neither to contradict nor assent when he assured them that it was "our brave pretender who did everything."

As for Loveland, he was no longer to be seen. While the police asked questions, the firemen examined dark corners, and the battered crowd trailed gloomily away, Tony looked in vain for his comrade in battle.

Milton, for appearance sake, was compelled to offer escort to his wife, who cried and laughed hysterically, when she did not show symptoms of fainting. The husband's presence relieved Tony from guard duty, and he alleged as an excuse for staying behind the necessity to make a "story" out of the business. His party left the restaurant in carriages and motors, sadder and perhaps wiser; but no one asked for Loveland. Even if they thought of him, the women who had come to see him play the rÔle of waiter could hardly acclaim him in the part of hero; while as for the men, if they realised what he and Tony Kidd had done, it was not to their interest or credit to acknowledge it.

Loveland had not, however, mysteriously disappeared. He was only keeping himself in the background; and the one background available at Alexander's was the kitchen.

It was now a smoky and dismal kitchen, with a wild litter of pots and pans, a table overturned, broken dishes, eggs, oysters, and raw batter strewing the floor; nevertheless, it seemed a haven of refuge to Loveland, after what he had suffered.

His dash through the flames to find the gas main had been a deed more gallant perhaps than the impulsive rescue on the battlefield which won him his D. S. O. Tonight, he had deliberately counted the cost, whereas in South Africa he had acted first, and thought afterwards. He was not excited now; that was all over, and there was time to think; yet he was conscious that he had conducted himself not unworthily.

"Funny thing," he thought, as he looked at his burnt left hand, and his singed coat; "funny thing! I suppose I behaved fairly decently, because I had to do it, and there was no other way. But I've fancied myself a lot more, before this, for a grand slam at bridge, or a right and left shot at a couple of birds."

There was no need to prove his courage further by reappearing in the restaurant. If he went back, it would look as if he were bidding for compliments from his late tormentors, and Heaven knew that he wanted nothing of the sort. He wanted only to be let alone. So he lurked in the kitchen, and looked on while Black Dick and Dick's still blacker aide-de-camp calculated and repaired the damage to their supplies. He even condescended to set the fallen table on its legs again, and in return for this service Dick was binding up his injured hand when the sound of a voice behind his back made him turn quickly.

"See here," said Tony Kidd, "I've been looking for you, because I want to tell you something. Whatever else you may or may not be, you're a man, anyhow."

As he delivered himself of this speech, Tony's pleasant, clever face lost the quizzical expression it was wont to wear, and looked very attractive in its earnestness.

"Thank you," answered Loveland, rather stiffly. Then, melting as his blue eyes and Tony's brown ones held each other, he added, smiling: "So are you."

"If I've made things any worse for you, I'm sorry," went on Tony. "It's all been in the way of business, you know."

Milton's words to the young journalist had cleared the mystery of the crowd who had glanced up from their newspapers to stare at the English waiter, and gone back to their newspapers again; Tony's veiled allusion brought no surprise to Loveland, therefore, and he answered without heat. "It doesn't matter," he said, quietly, in a tired voice which made good-natured Tony wince.

"You're in pain, aren't you?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing to speak of," said Val. "Burnt my hand and wrist a little, that's all."

"It was a narrow shave," said Tony. "By Jove, a 'shave' literally, for you've pretty well made a clearance of hair on one side of your head."

"I must look like a convict," returned Loveland. And considering everything, it struck Tony Kidd as odd that the Englishman should make that particular remark about himself.

"You've been having a mighty hard time of it since—er—since I saw you last," the journalist observed.

"It has been an experience," said Loveland.

"I'd like to show my appreciation of the way you've acted tonight," said Tony. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

The thought flashed through Loveland's mind that he might tell this newspaper man the whole story of his extraordinary adventures since coming to New York—the trouble with the bank; the mysterious silence which alone had answered his two cablegrams; the unaccountable attitude of the Waldorf management; and the rudeness of his shipboard acquaintances in the restaurant. Tony Kidd had certainly "written up," or caused to be written up, his quarrel with Milton, from Milton's point of view; and now he had evidently drawn public attention to Loveland's affairs again by some further article. But if the journalist had cherished a desire for revenge, apparently he felt it no longer. Now he was hinting that he wished to make atonement, and Val believed that he meant what he said. If he would advance money on the letter of credit—but no; after a moment's reflection, Loveland made up his mind not to ask. He had had so many snubs already, he would prefer not to risk another, he told himself. Besides, after all that had happened, he could not ask a favour of this man, no matter how pleasantly it had been offered.

"Thank you very much, but I think there's nothing you can do," Loveland answered.

Tony knew of one thing that he could do, and had already decided to do it: to turn the tide of public opinion as far as possible by a graphic description of the fire at Alexander's in tomorrow morning's "Light." But, after all, that would not accomplish much, if any, material good. A wave of sympathy would only send more curiosity-seekers to Alexander's, and Tony's keen eyes had seen, through Loveland's mask of indifference, how he writhed under his punishment.

"Say, you can't stay on here," the American explained impulsively. "It's a dog's life—and whatever you are, whatever you've been, you're too much of a gentleman by breeding and education to stand it. You'll have to quit; and perhaps I could think of some way out, if you——"

"I'll thank you not to try and take my waiter away from me, Mr. Kidd," broke in Alexander the Great, speaking so suddenly behind the two young men that both started "like guilty things upon a fearful summons."

"This isn't the right place for him, Alexander, and you know it," retorted Tony.

"It's the place he's engaged to stay in, until he leaves the country," Alexander persisted. "And I mean to hold him to his word, or know the reason why."

"So said another gentleman of your race once," remarked Tony Kidd. "He did business in Venice, but in the end a lady got the better of him."

"Ladies don't interfere in my concerns," grumbled Alexander, who had not a prophetic soul, and did not guess what the next few hours might have in store for him. "If Gordon leaves me without a week's notice I'll make him sorry for himself."

"He saved your place tonight, and Lord knows how many lives," said Tony.

"Dat ain't got nothing to do with the case," insisted Alexander.

"Don't bother, thanks," Loveland said hastily to Tony. "Things can't be worse than they've been tonight. Perhaps they'll be better. I shall try and fight it out here—till I can see my way."

"Pay my way," he might have said; but he did not wish to bring up the question of money between himself and Tony Kidd.

"It's bad enough for me to have my place upset," went on Alexander, "without having my people enticed to leave me in de lurch. 'Tain't a friendly act, Mr. Kidd. I shall be days makin' up my loss, what wid tings busted and burnt, and I shall need all the help I can get to put the restaurant in shape again."

Tony turned impatiently from the man's grumbling. "Well, if you won't let me do anything for you, you won't," he said to Loveland. "All the same, I shan't forget, and the time may come. Now I must be off, and write my story."

He put out a hand, and Val responded with his unbandaged one.

If any one had told Tony Kidd a few hours before that he would yield to an irresistible impulse impelling him to shake hands heartily with the notorious "Marquis of Twelfth Street," he would not have believed it possible.

If any one had told Loveland that he would feel pleased, even complimented, by the offer of a handshake from the journalist who had made a target of him in black and white, he would have said, "it could not happen." Yet neither thought it strange when it did happen.