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Page 67
"Live it down? It would set her up in conversation for the rest of
her life!" Billy chuckled softly. "That is, if it comes out all
right--and that's the only way I can imagine its coming out."
With one hand on the door Falconer paused to stare back at him. "You
don't mean she'd want to _tell_ about it!" he ejaculated with
unplumbed horror.
Billy was suddenly sobered. "Well, nobody but you and I and the
Baroff know it now," he said, "and I think we can keep the Baroff's
mouth shut.... I'll see her in the morning. You'd better get in a
nap to-morrow, and I will, too, for we'll want steady nerves. Good
night; I'm glad you're going with me."
"I'm damned if I'm glad," said the honest Englishman, with a wry
grin. "If we get our throats cut, I hope Miss Beecher will return
from the desert in time for our obsequies."
"Something in that red-headed chap I like after all," soliloquized
Billy B. Hill, as he turned toward his long-deferred repose. "Hanged
if he hasn't grit to go into a thing on an off chance!... Now, as
for me, I'm _sure_."
CHAPTER XIII
TAKING CHANCES
Late as he went to sleep, Billy B. Hill was up in good season that
Sunday morning. The need for cautioning Fritzi Baroff haunted him,
and he was not satisfied until he had had breakfast with that lively
young lady and laid down the law to her upon the situation.
She was very loath not to talk about herself at first. She wanted to
tell her tale to the papers and see if one of them would be hardy
enough to publish the story of the outrageous incarceration; she
wanted to cable the Viennese theater where she had played of her
sensational detention--in short, she wanted to get all the possible
publicity out of her durance vile and to advertise her small person
from Cairo to the Continent.
But Billy was urgent. "You just bide a wee on this publicity stunt,"
he demanded. "Cable your manager and press agent all you want
to--but don't talk around the hotel here--and whatever you do and
whatever you say, keep Miss Beecher's name and mine out of it."
He was very decided about that, and because she was very grateful to
him and because she liked him and because she lacked other friends
and other pocketbooks, the little Viennese held her tongue as
directed. And she borrowed as much money as Billy would lend her,
and drove off to the small shops which were open that day, and found
a frock or two and a hat which she declared passable, and returned
transfigured to the hotel and rendered the table where she lunched
with Billy, with the air of possessing him, quite the most
conspicuous in the room. The ladies gazed past them with chill eyes;
the men stared covertly, with the surreptitious envy with which even
the most virtuous of men surveys a lucky devil. And Billy sadly
perceived that he was acquiring a reputation.
He did not blame Miss Falconer for turning haughtily aside as he and
his vivid companion went past them in the veranda. But he did think
her disdainful lack of memory a little overdone.
His cheeks were still red as he looked away from her and encountered
the direct eyes of the girl who followed her.
"Oh, how do you do, Mr. Hill?" said Lady Claire, as clear as a
bell. "It's _such_ a nice day, isn't it?" she added, a little
breathlessly, as she went by.
"It's much better than it was," said Billy, and he turned back to
open the door for her.
"Claire!" said Miss Falconer from within.
"Coming, dear," said Lady Claire, and with a little smile of defiant
friendliness at the young American she was gone.
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