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Updated: May 26, 2025
So, a live millionaire being a more definite asset than the hoard of a forgotten city, she had coolly informed von Kerber that if he wished to improve his fortunes, he would do well to pay attention to Miss Fenshawe, and leave her free to win a wealthy husband. It was a villainous pact, but it might have succeeded, at any rate in Mrs.
Royson rode with such furious speed that he now made out a white-robed female figure struggling in the grasp of a man attired in the burnous and hood of a coast Arab. "Is that you, Miss Fenshawe?" he roared. At the sound of an English voice three men scattered and fled like rabbits, but the fourth, he who clutched the woman, set her at liberty and drew a long knife.
Still, the affair wore an ugly look, and tired though he was, Fenshawe had no thought of rest until the contradictory elements of a most perplexing business were sifted. He was seated near the fire with Royson and Stump. Irene had gone to Mrs. Haxton the instant she heard Dick's tragic story. "Has Mrs. Haxton thrown any light on events?" Fenshawe asked. "You say she was completely broken down.
"What is it?" he asked, neither raising nor lowering his voice sufficiently to attract attention. "Are you ill? Shall I call Miss Fenshawe?" She lifted an appealing hand, and tremblingly essayed to drop her veil. Her languid insolence had vanished with her good looks. For the moment, she was a broken and despairing woman.
And the man knew him again, for he raised his whip in a deferential salute. "Not much damage done this morning?" cried Dick. "No, sir. I drove 'em home afterwards, broken pole an' all," said Spong. "That's not the same pair, is it?" "No, sir. This lot is theayter, the bays is park." So Mr. Hiram Fenshawe, whoever he was, owned the yacht, and ran at least two fine equipages from his town house.
"Rather a sudden indisposition," said Fenshawe to Stump, smiling quizzically as he watched Irene supporting Royson's head while she urged him tenderly to drink a little more of the stimulant. "Is that wot you call it?" asked the captain of the Aphrodite, mopping his glowing cheeks with a handkerchief of brilliant hue.
Royson?" it said, and he was called back from the unknown to find Miss Fenshawe standing near. "I beg your pardon," he stammered. "I was so taken up with this to me most entrancing experience " "That you did not hear my fairy footsteps," she broke in, with a quiet laugh. "Do not apologize for that. I am wearing list slippers, so my ghostlike approach is easily accounted for.
Meanwhile, I think that the sooner we are at Aden the better it will be for Mr. Fenshawe and the ladies, and I offer you the respectful advice that you should back up Miss Fenshawe if she tries to persuade her grandfather to go there at once." "Funny thing," growled Stump, "but them's Mrs. Haxton's very words as I helped her up the ship's ladder. Hello! Where's the fire?
The two ladies read, and walked, and played bridge with Mr. Fenshawe and the Baron. They took much interest in Stromboli and the picturesque passage through the Straits of Messina, and the red glare of Etna kept them on deck for hours. Then the yacht settled down for the run to Port Said, and arrived at that sunlit abode of rascality on the first of November.
The word had gone round that a gunboat was in pursuit, and every one wanted to see her. Mr. Fenshawe and Baron von Kerber stood apart. The older man was visibly annoyed by this new instance of Italian interference. Royson, pacing the tiny bridge, caught an occasional glimpse of the millionaire's emphatic gestures.
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