Turning to Santa, the Captain was on the point of saying something further, when the waiter approached with the information that at the next stop the dining-car would be cut off. They became aware that they were the only diners left. The train was slowing down. The noise of its progress had changed to a hollow rumbling, which told them that a bridge was being crossed. Shifting their gaze, they discovered Paris, sparkling like a pile of jewels strewn in the lap of night. Below them in slow coils, mysterious with luminous reflections, wound the Seine. Hindwood's instant thought was that somewhere out there beneath the darkness, the woods of Vincennes were hiding.
Having paid their bill, they commenced the return journey through corridors dense with eager passengers. Before their section had been reached, the train was in the station. At the first open door, the Captain sprang to the platform and was lost.
“Where's he gone?” Santa whispered.
Hindwood glanced at her palely. “To get his telegram. To get——”
Seizing her arm, he hurried her back to his compartment, where behind locked doors they could spend in private whatever of freedom remained.
IV
The jig's up.”
Hoping that he was creating an impression of calmness, he lit a cigarette. She raised her face to his with a softness in her eyes that he had never noticed.
“If it is,” she pleaded, clutching at his hands, “swear you hadn't the least idea who I really am. Disown me. Act as though my arrest had come to you as an utter shock.”
He seated himself beside her. “But, my dear Santa, that wouldn't help you.”