“It is time to start, I think;” and she turned away.
Helga had indeed concluded all the arrangements, thinking of every detail with all a woman’s eye for small things. Madame Korvata was not to travel with us, but to follow later. Ivan was to remain and see to the difficulties in regard to the presence of the men in the house, and then go into hiding until he heard from Helga.
The whole affair was just cut and dried, as though a flight from the police were an ordinary incident of life.
I felt abominably nervous, I admit; disposed to look for spies and police at every turn. But Helga was as cool as if we had been in the States, and were running up from New York to Saratoga for a few days’ change of air.
“There is only one point of possible danger yet—the police may have a spy somewhere near at hand. I doubt it, because the Prince will rely upon Drexel, and knows that if his spy were seen, the plot against us would fail. But I have taken care. There is a house in the square here where the people are constant travellers. Our carriage is there, and we shall leave here unobserved, and pretend to come out of that house.”
“Is such a thing likely to trick them?”
“You smile; but it is just these little simple acted lies which make all the difference. Spies are trained to believe what they see; no more.”
We did as Helga had said, and whether or not we were seen I cannot say; but I saw no one, and we found not the least difficulty with the railway officials, who were indeed exceedingly courteous to the young handsome French widow, Madame de Courvaix, the name conspicuously written upon Helga’s luggage.
The cars were well filled, and we were not alone in our compartment, so that I thought we had better speak very little. But that was not Helga’s intention. She gave me a very meaning look, with a glance toward our fellow-passengers, and began to chatter at once, with all the vivacity of a Parisian.
“I am glad they did not come to see us off,” she said, as soon as the train started. “Train good-byes are so inane.”