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There was a momentary silence, and Major Proctor whispered in Mr. Penfield's ear. "Captain Shelton," said Mr. Penfield, "I see your son and a woman are in the room. It might be better if you sent them away. Your son, I have heard, has learned to behave himself. There is no need for him to hear what we have to say to you."
"P., unfortunately, Sybarite," he said: "bookkeeper for Whigham and Wimper leather merchants, Frankfort Street." "And how did you come by that coat and hat?" "Borrowed it from a drunken cop in Penfield's, a little while ago. They were raiding the place and I kind of wanted to get away.
Hayden's feeling of intense relief at Penfield's departure was succeeded by an almost numb dejection.
Through the unremitting efforts of Polish friends we obtained at last the permission to travel to Vienna. Once there, the wing of the American Eagle was extended over our uneasy heads. Owing to Mr. Penfield's action we obtained the permission to leave Austria.
And then, as if from a heart of agony, the woman at his side breathed a broken and tortured cry: "You dog! So it's come to murder, has it?" As if electrified by that ejaculation, P. Sybarite whipped up Penfield's revolver and levelled it at the man on the stairs. "Hands up!" he snapped. "Drop that gun!"
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