Pauline looked after him an instant, and then, realizing to the uttermost what it meant,—that she was abandoned to her fate in a trackless desert,—fell in a little heap on the sands and fainted away.
It was about eleven o’clock on the morning of that same day, that Carr Loria went to Shepheard’s Hotel and asked for Fleming Stone.
The two men met, and eyed each other appraisingly. There was no light chat, each was of serious face and in grave mood.
Loria spoke first, after the short greeting. “I have a telegram from my cousin, Miss Stuart,” he said, drawing a paper from his pocket. “I know why you are here, Mr. Stone, and I think best to show you this. Frankly, I am glad of it.”
Stone took the message, and read:
I have run away again. I am afraid of F. S. Don’t try to find me, I am all right, and I will communicate with you after he goes back to U. S. I positively will not make my whereabouts known as long as he is in Cairo. Don’t worry.
Polly.
“We may as well be honest with one another,” Loria went on. “I gather, from your presence here, that you know my cousin is guilty of the death of her aunt; but you don’t know, you can’t know, what that poor girl had to put up with. I can’t blame her, that in a moment of,—really of temporary insanity,—she let herself be tempted——”
“I’m sorry to cut short this interview, Mr. Loria,” said Stone, in his quiet way, “but, truly, I’ve a most important engagement just now. If I could see you, say this evening, and talk these things over by ourselves——”
“Surely, Mr. Stone. I must return to my work to-morrow, but I’ll see you to-night. Will you come to my place?”
“Yes, I will. About nine?”