“So much the better. I am sending you, Mr. Topham, because of your connection with the case. The Count of Ouro Preto is on board the Southern Cross. He must not be allowed to interfere.”
“He shall not be, sir.”
“Miss Byrd sent this dispatch to the Gazette by wireless last night. Mr. Loren will give you a copy of it. From the position of the vessel at that time, you can calculate where she will be tonight. Probably you can locate her by wireless. Do you understand?”
“Fully, sir.”
“Then consult with Mr. Loren and Mr. Metson, and go. Lose no time.”
CHAPTER XXIII
Leaning alternately to right and to left to meet the roll of the ship, Ouro Preto made his way along the deck of the Southern Cross, his eyes fixed on a vacant chair by Lillian Byrd’s side. Miss Byrd saw him coming, and longed to escape, but could not do so.
She did not wish to talk with the count, although she had come on board the Southern Cross at Buenos Ayres for the express purpose of obtaining from him certain knowledge that she felt sure that he possessed. For three weeks she had been working, quietly and unobtrusively but effectively, to gain it, and when she saw him approaching she felt that success was about to crown her efforts.
Yet in that moment of prospective triumph contrition seized her, and she looked down, panic-stricken, striving to gain time.
Dismayed, she asked herself why she should hesitate. It was not from any pity for Ouro Preto. Pity is the only for the weak and Ouro Preto was not weak. Nor did her hesitation arise from sympathy or friendship. Miss Byrd was experienced enough to know that no woman could feel either sympathy or friendship for Ouro Preto except at her peril; besides, she told herself that she did not even like him. His attitude toward her irritated her; and his pride, based on his father’s wealth and his mother’s ancestry, was as offensive as it was unconscious.