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Page 44
"And may we not expect more of him?" said Breitmann.
"Small good it will do him."
"Corsica," repeated the girl dreamily.
"Ay, Napoleon. The Corsican Brothers' daggers and vendetta, the
restless island! It is full of interest. I have been there."
Breitmann smiled pleasantly at the girl, but his thought was unsmiling.
Versed as he was in reading at a glance expression, whether it lay in
the eyes, in the lips, or the hands, he realized with chagrin that he
had made a misstep somewhere. For some reason he would have given much
to know, Fitzgerald was covertly watching him.
"You have been there, too, have you not, Mr. Fitzgerald?" asked Laura.
"Oh, yes; but never north of Ajaccio."
"Laura, what a finishing touch this will give to my book." For the
admiral was compiling a volume of treasures found, lost and still being
hunted. "All I can say is, that I am really sorry that the money
wasn't used for the purpose intended."
"I do not agree there," said Fitzgerald.
"And why not?" asked Breitmann.
"France is better off as she is. She has had all the empires and
monarchies she cares for. Wonderful country! See how she has lived in
spite of them all. There will never be another kingdom in France, at
least not in our generation. There's a Napoleon in Belgium and a
Bourbon in England; the one drills mediocre soldiers and the other
shoots grouse. They will never go any further."
The secretary spread his fingers and shrugged. "If there was only a
direct descendant of Napoleon!"
"Well, there isn't," retorted Fitzgerald, dismissing the subject into
limbo. "And much good it would do if there was."
"This treasure would rightly be his," insisted Breitmann.
"It was put together to bring Napoleon back. There is no Napoleon to
bring back."
"In other words, the money belongs to the finder?"
"Exactly."
"Findings is keepings," the admiral determined. "That's Captain
Flanagan's rule."
The girl could bring together no reasons for the mind inclining to the
thought that between the two young men there had risen an antagonism of
some sort, nothing serious but still armed with spikes of light in the
eyes and a semi-truculent angle to the chin. Fitzgerald was also aware
of this apparency, and it annoyed him. Still, sometimes instinct
guides more surely than logic. After all, he and Breitmann were only
casual acquaintances. There had never been any real basis for
friendship; and the possibility of this had been rendered nil by the
telegram. One can not make a friend of a man who has lied gratuitously.
"Now, Mr. Breitmann," interposed the admiral pacifically, for he was
too keen a sailor not to have noted the chill in the air, "suppose we
send off those letters? Here, I'll write the names and addresses, and
you can finish them up by yourself. Please call up Captain Flanagan at
Swan's Hotel and tell him to report this afternoon." The admiral
scribbled out the names of his guests, gathered up the precious
documents, and put them into his pocket. "Come along now, my children;
we'll take the air in the garden and picture the Frenchman's brig
rocking in the harbor."
"It is all very good of you," said Fitzgerald, as the trio eyed the
yacht from the terrace.
"Nonsense! The thing remains that all these years you ignored us."
"I have been, and still am, confoundedly poor. There is a little; I
suppose I could get along in a hut in some country village; but the
wandering life has spoiled me for that."
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