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Page 38
"Well, that--that's different," stammered the young American. His
sympathy became cynical. Fishy business--but even a fishy business
has its human side. So presently he found himself gazing
interestedly upon the photograph the German displayed in the back of
his watch--the photograph of a decollet� young woman with
provocative dark eyes and parted lips and pearl-like teeth, and he
shook the caller's hand most heartily in parting, and prophesied,
with fine assurance, the successful end of this fishy romance.
"You have a heart, my friend," said the German solemnly, and lifting
hat and stick and lemon-colored gloves from the table, he bowed
profoundly in farewell.
"And to the Fr�ulein--you will give my so deep apology?" he added
earnestly, and Billy assured him that he would. And he found
himself, for all his pre-occupation with the vision of Arlee's
spring-like beauty, by no means displeased at the errand. A man must
have something to do while he is waiting--if he is to avoid last
bottles! He would seek her out that very afternoon.
* * * * *
But by afternoon he was tearing upstairs and downstairs through the
hotel after a very different quarry, which at last he ran to earth
at a tiny table behind a palm on the veranda. The quarry was further
protected by an enveloping newspaper, but Billy did not stand on
ceremony.
"I want to talk to you," said he.
Falconer looked up. He recognized Billy perfectly, though his gaze
gave no admission of that. This tall young fellow with the deep-set
gray eyes and the rugged chin and the straight black hair he first
remembered seeing dancing that Wednesday evening with Arlee--after
their own disastrous tea and its estrangement. Arlee had appeared on
mystifyingly good terms with him, though he was positive from his
own observations, and had corroboration from the Evershams, that she
had never spoken to him until five minutes before. Then the fellow
had fairly grilled the Evershams about the girl's whereabouts last
night. And he had learned that the previous afternoon he had managed
to take Claire's protection upon himself in the bazaars, actually
convincing her that she ought to feel indebted to him, and had
driven back with them.... An unabashed intruder, that fellow! He
ought to have a lesson.
His air of unwelcome deepened, if possible, as Billy helped himself
to a chair, drew it confidentially close to him and cast a careful
glance about the veranda.
"I don't want anyone to hear this," he explained.
Falconer smiled cynically. He had met confidential young Americans
before. There was nothing they could sell _him_.
"It's about Miss Beecher." Billy looked uncomfortable. He hesitated,
blushed boyishly through his tan, and blurted, "There's something
mighty queer about that departure of hers yesterday."
"Ah!"
"I don't feel right about it.... It's deuced queer. She isn't in
Alexandria."
"Ah!"
"If you say 'Ah' again, I hope you choke," said Billy violently to
himself. Aloud he continued, "I wired to the Khedivial and to all
the other hotels--there are just a few--and she isn't registered
there, and the Maynards are not, either."
"Possibly staying with friends," said Falconer indifferently. He
regarded his paper.
"Very few Americans have friends in Alexandria. However, that might
be so. But no ship has arrived from the Continent for three days,
and it seems mighty odd, if they were there three days ago, for them
to have wired at the last minute and had her tear off like that."
"I do not pretend to account for your compatriots," said the
sandy-haired young man.
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