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Page 99
And back in the steam-heated apartment lay that mutilated head, a sheer
fabrication of _papier-m�ch�_. He wondered if Mrs. Cassidy had swept it
out ... the head that had meant so much to him. There was no hope any
more. If he were still free in Paris he would have one look at that
tomb, and then ... well, he had had his day.
Two days later the little old steamer debarked many passengers in the
harbour of Cherbourg, carelessly confiding them to a much littler and
much older steamer that transported them to the actual land. Among these
were a feebly exploding father, a weak but faithful mother, and the
swathed wrecks of the Demon and the flapper.
Then began a five-hour train-ride to the one-time capital of a famous
upstart. There was but little talk among the members of the party. Bean
kept grimly to himself because the only friendly member slept. He
studied her pale, drawn face. She had indeed managed well, but his own
downfall had thwarted her. He was a nobody. They were doubtless right in
wanting to keep him from her. Yet he would see that tomb, and at the
earliest possible moment.
At eleven that night they reached the capital. A dispiriting silence was
maintained to the doors of a hotel. The women drooped in chairs. Breede
acquainted the reception committee of a Paris hostelry with the party's
needs as to chambers.
Thereupon they discovered one of the party to be missing. No one had
seen him since entering. They were excited by this, all but the flapper.
"I don't blame him," averred the flapper ... "Tagging us! You let him
alone! I shall perfectly not worry if he doesn't come home all night. Do
you understand? And when he does come--"
"Not safe," snapped Breede. "King of Egypt, Napoleon ... not after money,
just principle of thing. Chap's nutty--talk'n' like that!"
"Good _night_!" snapped the flapper in her turn.
XV
He had walked quickly away while porters were collecting the bags. "Keep
on the main street," he thought, plunging ahead. He did not change this
plan until he discovered himself again at the door of that hotel he
meant to leave. It faced a circle, and he had traversed this. He fled
down a cross-street and again felt free.
For hours he walked the lighted avenues, or sat moodily on wayside
benches, and at length, on a rustic seat screened by shrubbery in a
little park, he dozed.
He awoke in the early light, stretched legs and arms luxuriously and
again walked. He saw it was five o'clock. He was thrilled now by the
morning beauty of the Corsican's city, all gray and green in the
flooding sun. And the streets had filled with a voluble traffic that
affected him pleasantly. Every one seemed to speak gayly to every one.
Two cab-drivers exchanged swift incivilities, but in a quite perfunctory
way, with evident good-will.
Walking aimlessly as yet--it was too early for tombs--he came again to
that hotel on the circle. They were asleep in there. Little they'd
worried--glad to be so easily rid of him.
Then he noticed at the circle's centre a lofty column wrought in bronze
with infinite small detail. Surmounting that column was the figure of
the Corsican. An upstart who had prevailed!
He left the circle, lest he be apprehended by the Breedes. Soon he was
again in that vast avenue of the park-places where he had slept. And
now, far off on this splendid highway, he descried a mighty arch.
Sternly gray and beautiful it was. And when, standing under it, he
looked aloft to its mighty facade, its grandeur seemed threatening to
him. He knew what that arch was--another monument imposed upon the city
by the imperial assassin--without royal lineage since the passing of
Ram-tah.
"Some class to _that_ upstart!" he muttered. And if Napoleon had been no
one, was it not probable that Bean had not been even Napoleon. The
Countess Casanova had doubtless deceived him, though perhaps
unintentionally. She had seemed a kind woman, he thought, but you
couldn't tell about her controls.
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