Part 45 (1/2)
”Well, I got tired having a ham-fisted Dutchman pawing me and closing my mouth with his big splay fingers. So I asked him to slide overboard and shoved his friend after him.”
”Did you shoot them?”
”No, I tell you!” he said disgustedly. ”I hadn't a chance in hot blood, and I couldn't do it in cold. No, Scheherazade, I didn't shoot.
I pulled a gun for dramatic effect, that's all.”
After a silence she asked him in a low voice what he intended to do with her.
”Do? Nothing! Chat affably with you until we reach town, if you don't mind. Nothing more violent than that, Scheherazade.”
The girl, sitting sideways on the sofa, leaned her head against the velvet corner as though very tired. Her small hands lay in her lap listlessly, palms up-turned.
”Are you really tired?” he asked.
”Yes, a little.”
He took the two pillows from his bed and placed them on the sofa.
”You may lie down if you like, Scheherazade.”
”Won't you need them?”
”Sunburst of my soul, if I pillow my head on anything while you are in the vicinity, it will be on that olive-wood box!”
For the first time the faintest trace of a smile touched her lips. She turned, settled the pillows to her liking, and stretched out her supple figure on the sofa with a slight sigh.
”Shall I talk to you, Scheherazade, or let you snuggle into the chaste arms of Morpheus?”
”I can't sleep.”
”Is it a talk-fest, then?”
”I am listening.”
”Then, were the two recent gentlemen who so rudely pounced upon me the same gentlemen who so cheerfully chased me in an automobile when you made red fire?”
”Yes.”
”I was betting on it. Nice-looking man--the one with the cla.s.sical map and the golden Frick.”
She said nothing.
”Scheherazade,” he continued with smiling malice, ”do you realise that you are both ornamental and young? Why so young and murderous, fair houri? Why delight in manslaughter in any degree? Why cultivate a.s.sault and battery? Why swipe the property of others?”
She closed her eyes on the pillow, but, as he remained silent, presently opened them again.
”I asked them not to hurt you,” she said irrelevantly.
”Who? Oh, your strenuous friends with the footpad technique? Well, they obeyed you unwillingly.”