United States or Luxembourg ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Mackintosh sounded on the nomadic piano, now ensconced within the coach of concord, the first triumphal strains of the maternal tribute in rag-time. He and the conspiring instrument were concealed in the depths of the vehicle from the gaze of the multitude, but Mr. Heatherbloom at the back faced them on the little step which served as concert stage.
"Very well." His excellency spoke quickly too quickly. "I'll give the order." And, rising, he started toward the door. "Stop!" The prince did. Venom and apprehension mingled in his look. Mr. Heatherbloom made a gesture. "You will give the order; but here and as I direct." His voice was cold as the gleaming barrel. "That 'phone," indicating one on the wall, "connects with the bridge, of course.
Heatherbloom imagined they had time to make up. He hoped so, then resented a pause at a corner for an old lady. How he wished she had not been afflicted with rheumatism, and could have got on without help! But at length the light-weight conductor did manage to pull the heavy-weight passenger aboard. Time lost, thirty seconds!
Heatherbloom sprang swiftly to his feet but the person, an old darky, did not appear very formidable. "Got a match, boss?" he inquired mildly. Mr. Heatherbloom's bright suspicious glance shot into the good-humored, open look of the other; that person's manner betrayed no ulterior motive.
This madman, on the slightest provocation now, was evidently prepared to emulate that extraordinary and undesirable type. What might he not do, or attempt to do? The nobleman's figure relaxed slightly, his lips twitched. Then he sank back once more into the strong solid chair at the desk. "Good," said Mr. Heatherbloom. A cold smile like a faint ripple on a mountain lake swept his lips.
Heatherbloom but vaguely heard; he felt little interest at the moment in his excellency or his boat. Betty Dalrymple's face, however, showed less indifference to this startling intelligence. "The Nevski a wreck?" she murmured. "It must all seem like an evil dream to you now," Mr. Heatherbloom spoke absently. "Your having ever been on her!" "Not all an evil one," she answered.
The words sounded portentous, and Francois stared. He had imagination. The beautiful American girl had told him that this man before him was a great and daring detective. He spoke now even as an emissary of the czar himself. The prince was a high lord, close to the throne. These were deep waters. The youth looked troubled; Mr. Heatherbloom allowed the thought he had inspired to sink in.
Betty Dalrymple's manner at the Russian woman's words indicated that the latter had how Mr. Heatherbloom could not imagine hit upon a great kernel of truth. Again, in fancy, he saw on her cheek that swift flush of warm blood. Lucky, thrice lucky, the man who had caused it! Softly Mr. Heatherbloom moved nearer. Was she sleeping? He, himself, felt too fagged to sleep.
Miss Van Rolsen, being a maiden lady, would probably be most particular about recommendations; that they should be of the home-made, intelligible brand, from people you could call up by telephone and interrogate. Had she been very particular in his case? Mr. Heatherbloom said "no" not joyfully, and explained. Though she drew words from him, he talked to the sky-line.
A crisp, matter-of-fact voice concealing any agitation the speaker may have felt broke in upon these varied reflections. Mr. Heatherbloom, rather out of breath but quiet and determined, stood before them. "Miss Dalrymple! Mademoiselle! There is no occasion for alarm but it will be necessary; for us to leave here at once!" "To leave?" It was Sonia Turgeinov who spoke.
Word Of The Day