Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge snatched up his hat.
“They don’t leave till the two-twenty,” he shouted. “We’ll catch them at the Milan. If we don’t, I’m ruined! By God, I’m ruined!”
They found Major Kosuth in the hall of the hotel. He was wearing a fur coat and was otherwise attired for traveling. His luggage was already being piled upon a cab. Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge wasted no words upon him.
“You and I have got to have a talk, right here and now,” he declared. “Where’s the Count?”
Major Kosuth frowned gloomily.
“I do not understand you,” he said, shortly. “Our business is concluded and I am leaving by the two-twenty train.”
“You are doing nothing of the sort,” the American answered, standing before him, grim and threatening.
The Turk showed no sign of terror. He gripped his silver-headed cane firmly.
“I think,” he said, “that there is no one here who will prevent me.”
Peter, who saw a fracas imminent, hastily intervened. “If you will permit me for a moment,” he said, “there is a little explanation I should perhaps make to Major Kosuth.”