United States or Mauritius ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
And her voice trailed off into broken murmurs, her eyes closed, and she slept. Ulrika watched her musingly and tenderly wondering what secret trouble weighed on the girl's mind. When Valdemar Svensen presently looked in, she made him a warning sign and, hushing his footsteps, he went away again.
In the earnest and watchful countenance that bent above his pillow, he slowly recognized his friend, companion, and servant, Valdemar Svensen, and though returning consciousness brought with it throbs of agonizing pain, he strove to smile, and feebly stretched out his hand.
Opening his paper, he read of "Femme coupée en morceaux" and "L'Affaire Svensen," and then a large heading, "Disparition de Lord Burnley." Henry started. Here was news indeed. And he had failed to get hold of it for his paper. Lord Burnley, it seemed, had been strolling alone about the city in the late afternoon; many people had seen him in the Rue de la Cité and the neighbourhood.
Svensen, a brief person and no word-waster, did not detain his audience long. At six o'clock the Assembly adjourned. The other journalist, Grattan, came from Paris, and was bored with the League and with Geneva. He preferred to report crime and blood, something, as he said, with guts in it. Statesmen assembled together made him yawn.
Olaf Gueldmar was still gazing at the brilliancy in the heavens, which seemed to increase in size and lustre as the wind rose higher. Svensen took his hand it was icy cold, and damp with the dew of death. "Let me go with thee!" he implored, in broken accent. "I fear nothing! Why should I not venture also on the last voyage?" Gueldmar made a faint but decided sign of rejection.
Had Svensen a private enemy? No one knew. Far more likely did it seem that he had inadvertently stumbled into the lake, after dining well. What an end to so great and good a man! Lord Burnley, the senior British delegate, that distinguished, notable, and engaging figure in the League, had, as has been said earlier, a strange addiction to walking.
"First of all," he presently resumed, "poor Svensen may have met with an accident. He may have fallen into the lake and have been drowned. But this we will set aside as improbable. Geneva is seldom quite deserted at night, and he would have attracted attention. Besides which, I have heard that he is an excellent swimmer. No; an improbable contingency. What remains? Foul play.
I'm off to speak to the pilot." And away he went, followed more slowly by Lorimer, who, though he pretended indifference, was rather curious to know more, if possible, concerning his friend's adventure of the morning. They found the pilot, Valdemar Svensen, leaning at his ease against the idle wheel, with his face turned towards the eastern sky.
He stopped beside Henry's breakfast-table, cocked his head on one side, and said, "Hallo. Good-morning. Heard the latest news?" Henry admitted that he had heard no news later than that in the morning press. "Chang's gone now," said Vaga. "Gone to join Svensen and Burnley.
Dyceworthy. They had had a glorious day's sail, piloted by Valdemar Svensen, whose astonishment at seeing the Gueldmars on board the Eulalie was depicted in his face, but who prudently forebore from making any remarks thereon.
Word Of The Day