"Hang you, I'm not!" incogitantly.
"Go to the devil, then!" cried Maurice, hotly.
"Gently," said Fitzgerald, catching Maurice by the coat and
pulling him down into a chair. "Confound you, could you not have
made yourself known to me without yelling my name at the top of
your voice?"
"Are you ashamed of it?" asked Maurice, loosing his coat from
Fitzgerald's grip.
"I'm afraid of it," the Englishman admitted, in a lowered voice.
"And your manly, resonant tones have cast it abroad. I am here
incognito."
"Who the deuce are you?"
"I am Don Jahpet of Armenia; that is to say that I am a marked
man. And now, as you would inelegantly express it, you have put
a tag on me. When I left you in Vienna the other day I lied to
you. I am sorry. I should have trusted you, only I did not wish
you to risk your life. You would have insisted on coming along."
"Risked my life?" echoed Maurice. "How many times have I not
risked it? By the way," impressed by a sudden thought, "are you
the Englishman every one seems to be expecting?"
"Yes." Fitzgerald knocked his pipe against the railing. "I am
the man. Worse luck! Was any one near when you called me by
name?"
"Only one of those wooden gendarmes.
Pages:
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134