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There was the other way, which was now prepared, and the Greek had learned enough about his victim to justify him in using it. The cypher expert, who had been at work on Feist's diary, had now completed his key and brought Logotheti the translation.
Feist's, Bleema darling. For mamma's sake, baby. For grandma's. If it's got to be an engagement, hold it until after he gets back. Don't go rushing in. Take time to think a little. France is no place for a honeymoon now submarines and all." "Oh, I know! You hope he'll get sunk with a submarine." "Shame, Miss Bleema; shame!"
'He found blood on his hands after he had carried her. Had you not heard that? I wondered whether you saw her that evening. Did you? 'I saw her from a distance in the box with her friends, answered Feist steadily. 'Did you see her afterwards? The direct question came suddenly, and the strained look in Feist's face became more intense.
In conversation, Logotheti had asked him to describe the panic at the theatre, and Cordova's singing in the dark, but Feist's answers had been anything but interesting. 'You can't remember much about that kind of thing, he had said in his drawling way, 'because there isn't much to remember.
She had quite forgotten the man's existence, but Logotheti recalled to her memory the circumstances under which they had met, and Feist's unhealthy face with its absurdly youthful look, and what he had said about having been at the Opera in New York on the night of the explosion. 'Why do you tell me all this? Margaret asked. 'He was a disgusting-looking man, and I never wish to see him again.
'No, said his lordship, with perfect gravity, 'it's not that. Ah yes, I remember! It's a process for making nitric acid out of air. Lady Maud nodded and smiled, as if she knew all about it, but her eyes were again scrutinising Mr. Feist's face. Her neighbour, whose hobby was applied science, at once launched upon a long account of the invention.
The last person I carried let me see I think it must have been that poor girl who died at the Opera in New York. We had found Feist's address in the visitors' book, and we sent him home in a hansom. I wonder whether he got there! 'I should think the member who put him down would be rather annoyed, observed Logotheti. 'Yes.
But his employer did not know that Feist's memory was failing from drink, and that he no longer trusted his marvellous faculty. Van Torp had sequestrated him and shut him up, Bamberger believed; but neither Van Torp nor any one else would get anything out of him. And if any one made him talk, what great harm would be done, after all?
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