Before Topham could shape an answer, a passing band struck up one of the waltzes of the day, and with its strains there rose before the navy officer’s mind a face—the face of the girl with whom he had sat upon the steamer two nights before and listened to the band play that same waltz.
The music died away in the distance, and he looked up at Risdon. “When’s the wedding to be?” he laughed.
“The wedding? God forbid! I’d as soon marry a catamount. Not that this particular catamount would marry me or any one else less than a duke—if she and that brother of hers get what they’re after. But that doesn’t make her any the less entertaining—when she has something to gain by it. She worked me all right—once.” The correspondent winced at the recollection. “Wait till you see her!”
“Probably I won’t. I must be off tomorrow, you know. Who are they—she and her brother—anyway? And what are they after?”
“After? Trouble! Big trouble sure! Rutile won’t admit it—for publication. Says I’m a yellow reporter, you know. But it’s so, all the same. But, say, I’ve got to go up to the war office. Come along with me and I’ll tell you the yarn!”
“Yes! Do! Go along, Topham. I’ve got an hour’s work that must be done, and then I’m at your service. And—by the way, when you cross the bridge, pick Risdon up by the nape of the neck and drop him gently into the River Spree. Then come back to lunch.”
Risdon jumped up. “That’s American bluntness, I suppose,” he exclaimed. “Ouro Preto said the other day that Americans had no more manners than a wet dog. I came near knocking him down for it, but I’ll be darned if I don’t believe he was right. Come along, Topham.”
The two young men clattered down the stairs into the broad Unter den Linden. Crowds thronged the sidewalk and a double current of miscellaneous vehicles moved unceasing between the curbs. Everything on wheels was represented, from a 60-horsepower automobile to an oxcart. Laughing and chatting Risdon led Topham through the maze, pointing out famous men and famous places with comments, the least of which, if overheard by any one of the stiff-necked German officers they passed, would have brought forth an immediate challenge.
After a while he pointed to an ornate stone pile. “That’s where our pretty countess lives,” he remarked, airily. “I haven’t seen her for two or three weeks. Wonder where she’s keeping herself?”
“The countess Ouro Preto? Oh! yes! You were going to tell me something about her, weren’t you?” questioned Topham, carelessly.