|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 64
He put a hand on the dancer's arm. "We must go to the consul at
once," he said. "We must get her out to-night."
"Consul!" The girl gave a short, derisive laugh. "This is no matter
for consuls, my young friend. The law is slow, and by the time that
law will stand knocking upon the palace doorstep, your little girl
with the fair hair will be buried very deep and fast--I think she
would not be the first woman bricked into those black walls.... You
must go about this yourself.... You are in love with her--yes?" she
added impertinently, with keen, uptilted eyes.
"That's another story," Billy curtly informed her. He made no
attempt to analyze his feeling for Arlee Beecher. She had enchanted
him in those two days that he had known her. She had obsessed his
thoughts in those two days of her disappearance. Now that he was
aware of her peril every selfish thought was overwhelmed in burning
indignation. He told himself that he would do as much for any girl
in her situation, and, indeed, so hot ran his rage and so dearly did
his young blood love rash adventure and high-handed justice, that
there was some honest excuse for the statement!
"Zut! A man does not risk his neck for a matter of indifference!"
said the little Baroff sagely, her knowing eyes on Billy's grim
young face. "So I am to be the sister to you--the Platonic
friend--h'm?" she observed with droll resignation. "Never mind--I
will help you get her out as you got me--_Gott sei dank!_ There is a
way, I think--if you are not too particular about that neck. I will
tell you all and draw you a plan when we get to a hotel."
But before they got to a hotel there was an obstacle or two to be
overcome. A lady in Mohammedan wraps might not be exactly _persona
grata_ at fashionable hotels at midnight. Casting off the wrap
Fritzi revealed herself in a little pongee frock that appeared to be
suitable for traveling, and with two veils and Billy's cap for a
foundation she produced an effect of headgear not unlike that of
some bedraped tourists.
"I arrived on the night train," she stated as they drew up before
the shining hotel. "It is late now for that night train--but we
waited for my luggage, which you will observe is lost. So I pay for
my room in the advance--I think you had better give me some money
for that--I have nothing but these," and she indicated her flashing
diamonds.
"My name," said Billy, handing over some sovereigns with the first
ray of humor since her revelation to him, "my name, if you should
care to address me, is Hill--William B. Hill."
"William B. Hill," she echoed with an air of elaborate precision,
and then flashed a saucy smile at him as he helped her out of the
carriage. "What you call Billy, eh?"
"You've got it," he replied in resignation.
"Hill--that means a mountain," she commented. "A mountain of good
luck for me--h'm? And that B--what is that for?"
"My middle name," said Billy patiently, as they reached the door the
Arab doorman was holding open for them.
Absently she laughed. Her dark eyes were sparkling at the vision of
the safe and shining hotel, the dear familiar luxury, the sounds and
sights of her lost Continental life. A few late arrivals from some
dance gave a touch of animation to the wide rooms, and Fritzi's eyes
clung delightedly to the group.
"God, how happy I am!" she sighed.
Billy was busy avoiding the clerk's knowing scrutiny. It was the
same clerk he had coerced with real cigars to enlighten him
concerning Arlee Beecher, and he felt that that clerk was thinking
things about him now, mistaken and misguided things, about his
predilections for the ladies. Philosophically he wondered where they
had better try after this.
But he underestimated the battery of Fritzi's charms, or else the
serene assurance of her manner.
"My letters--letters for Baroff," she demanded of the clerk. "None
yet. Then my room, please.... But I sent a wire from Alexandria.
That stupid maid," she turned to explain to Billy, her air the last
stand of outraged patience. "She is at the train looking for that
luggage she lost," she added to the clerk, and thereupon she
proceeded to arrange for the arrival of the fictitious maid whom
Billy heard himself agreeing to go back and fetch if she did not
turn up soon, and to engage a room for herself--a much nicer room
than Billy himself was occupying--then handed over Billy's
sovereigns and turned happily away jingling the huge key of her
room.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|