Part 83 (1/2)
”You think I'll be stopped?”
”Yes. Who is your crazy companion? I heard that he is Alak Sengoun--the headlong fool--they call Prince Erlik. Is it true?”
”Where did you hear all these things?” he demanded. ”Where were you when you heard them?”
”At the Turkish Emba.s.sy. Word came that they had caught you. I did not believe it; others present doubted it.... But as the rumour concerned _you_, I took no chances; I came instantly. I--I had rather be dead than see you here----” Her voice became unsteady, but she controlled it at once:
”Neeland! Neeland! Why did you come? Why have you undone all I tried to do for you----?”
He looked intently at Ilse Dumont, then his gaze swept the handsome suite of rooms. No one seemed to notice him; in perspective, men moved leisurely about the further _salon_, where play was going on; and there seemed to be no one else in sight. And, as he stood there, free, in full pride and vigour of youth and strength, he became incredulous that anything could threaten him which he could not take care of.
A smile grew in his eyes, confident, humorous, a little hint of tenderness in it:
”Scheherazade,” he said, ”you are a dear. You pulled me out of a dreadful mess on the _Volhynia_. I offer you grat.i.tude, respect, and the very warm regard for you which I really cherish in my heart.”
He took her hands, kissed them, looked up half laughing, half in earnest.
”If you're worried,” he said, ”I'll find Captain Sengoun and we'll depart----”
She retained his hands in a convulsive clasp:
”Oh, Neeland! Neeland! There are men below who will never let you pa.s.s! And Breslau and Kestner are coming here later. And that devil, Damat Mahmud Bey!”
”Golden Beard and Ali Baba and the whole Arabian Nights!” exclaimed Neeland. ”Who is Damat Mahmud Bey, Scheherazade dear?”
”The shadow of Abdul Hamid.”
”Yes, dear child, but Abdul the d.a.m.ned is shut up tight in a fortress!”
”His shadow dogs the spurred heels of Enver Pasha,” she said, striving to maintain her composure. ”Oh, Neeland!--A hundred thousand Armenians are yet to die in that accursed shadow! And do you think Mahmud Damat will hesitate in regard to _you_!”
”Nonsense! Does a murderous Moslem go about Paris killing people he doesn't happen to fancy? Those things aren't done----”
”Have you and Sengoun any weapons at all?” she interrupted desperately, ”Anything!--A sword cane----?”
”No. What the devil does all this business mean?” he broke out impatiently. ”What's all this menace of lawlessness--this impudent threat of interference----”
”It is _war_!”
”War?” he repeated, not quite understanding her.
She caught him by the arm:
”War!” she whispered; ”War! Do you understand? They don't care what they do now! They mean to kill you here in this place. They'll be out of France before anybody finds you.”
”Has war actually been declared?” he asked, astounded.
”Tomorrow! It is known in certain circles!” She dropped his arm and clasped her hands and stood there twisting them, white, desperate, looking about her like a hunted thing.
”Why did you do this?” she repeated in an agonised voice. ”What can I do? I'm no traitor!... But I'd give you a pistol if I had one----” She checked herself as the girl who had been reading an evening newspaper on a sofa, and to whom Neeland had been talking when Ilse Dumont entered, came sauntering into the room.