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Updated: May 9, 2025
I appreciate those qualities when exercised on a person like Martiny, whose main argument is centered in an automatic pistol, but they would be singularly out of place if tested on Otto Schmidt, when backed by the laws of the United States, which, strange as it may seem, I also represent." "If you put it that way, Steingall " "I do, most emphatically. Let me be more precise.
It provided one of the minor rills of a torrent which was gaining irresistible momentum, and would submerge many people before its uncontrolled madness was exhausted. Had he yielded to the Earl, and hurried to the Plaza at once, he would have met Curtis and Steingall there, and those two men might have diverted the bursting current of events into a new channel.
Steingall, sunk in his collar, from behind the black-rimmed spectacles, which, with their trailing ribbon of black, gave a touch of Continental elegance to his cropped beard and colonel's mustaches, watched without enthusiasm the three mammoth logs, where occasional tiny flames gave forth an illusion of heat.
"My daughter's actions will be revealed in detail to a judge," he said loftily. "At present I fail to see what bearing they have on the discussion, unless, indeed, you mean to arrest Curtis immediately on a charge which I am prepared to formulate." "No, that is not why I requested your lordship and Count Vassilan to come here this morning," said Steingall, gazing anxiously at the clock.
He kissed his aunt, shook hands with his uncle, and was about to answer the lady's torrent of questions with regard to himself and his own people when Steingall interfered. "Sorry to interrupt you," he said, "but the turn taken by to-night's crime demands your immediate attention, Mr. Curtis. Do you know you are wearing the dead man's overcoat?" "Yes. I discovered that fact some time ago."
Then came Steingall, and he and Mrs. Carshaw exchanged a glance which the younger man missed. Mrs. Carshaw, sitting a while in deep thought after the others had gone, rang up a railway company. Atlantic City is four hours distant from New York. By hurrying over certain inquiries she wished to make, she might catch a train at midday. She drove to her lawyers.
There was need of some such respite; she had much to relate, she thought, before he could possibly understand the motives which led to her flight. Barely half an hour ago Mr. Steingall had put in an appearance at her apartment. He had told her, with convincing brevity, exactly why Curtis refrained from adding to her perplexities by announcing the comparative well-being of Jean de Courtois.
With him was a foreigner, a most truculent looking person, whose collar, shirt, and waistcoat carried other signs, quite as obvious, but curiously ominous in view of the cause of this gathering in the hall of the hotel. "May I ask who you are, sir?" said Steingall. "I am the Earl of Valletort," said the stranger, "and this is Count Ladislas Vassilan." "Ah! Count Vassilan is not an Englishman?"
His hand was thrust forward, not toward the occupants of the bridge, but toward the wharf. Fowle saw him and yelled. A report and the yell merged into a scream of agony. Voles was sure that Fowle had betrayed him, and took vengeance. There was a deadly certainty in his aim. Steingall, utterly fearless when action was called for, swung himself down by the railings. He was too late.
Above the main entrance two green lamps stared solemnly into the night, and their monitory gleam seemed to bid evildoers "Beware!"; nor was there aught far-fetched in the notion, because from this imposing center New York's guardians kept watch and ward over the city. "Clancy still waiting?" demanded Steingall of a policeman in uniform who was on duty in an inquiry office. "Yes, sir.
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