At Sin’s question, the girl-shade glanced around into that map of malignity, his face. “Too wonderful almost to believe. In the air, truly, a man must feel like the monarch of all he surveys.”
“Untruly, he thinks he is.”
The interruption came from behind. Turning, they saw that His Majesty had entered the box. His frown suggested nerve tension, rather than ill temper. His voice was oiled with triumph over the demonstration of his most unique invention. Nevertheless the accented word of his comment aroused in Dolores the uneasiness which had kept pace with them through his personally-conducted tour of Greater Gehenna.
Directly on seating himself, he reached for the telephone. “Don’t waste all day on scenics. This is no travelogue. Get to the interiors!”
Tapping the box-rail so impatiently that sulphurous spots glowed from the points of contact, he watched the pool. Dolores and the iniquitous escort on her other side awaited with interest the result of his command.
Soon they were viewing a luxuriously appointed stateroom. The full-length brass bedstead was occupied by a sleeping man. His up-thrown, silk-clad arm concealed the lower part of his face, but his forehead and back-tossed hair showed clearly.
“John!” The muffled exclamation escaped the girl-shade, half a sob, half a croon of joy.
A vaguer male figure became discernible, seated near the head of the bed. Leaning over the pillow, he whispered to the man. Although his outlines developed somewhat to the gaze, he continued to lack the clarity of other objects about the cabin; impressed one more as a creature of the spirit than the flesh.
The sleeper seemed to feel this insinuating presence. He turned as if in troubled dreams; covered his ears with his hands; drew away so stressfully that his head bumped a bedpost. He awakened; dazedly looked about; glanced at his watch; decided to arise.
This evidently was a prefatory scene. There ensued an interval which Satan occupied with issuing detailed orders for the further manipulation of the great reflector. When the over-grown “blimp” again was mirrored in the pool, the lapse of time at once was manifest. Several passengers paced the deck and below breakfast was underway. In the lee of one of the cabins, a woman, richly clad in furs, was being tucked into her chair by a fur-coated man wearing a plaid cap.