Zoya Rochal behind them was laughing softly. "It is not at all improbable that you will find them in the Imperial suite at the Bayrischer Hof."
Rowland felt the blood rising to the tips of his ears but he kept his composure.
"Them, Madame Rochal?" he questioned soberly.
"Why not, mon Philippe?" she laughed. "One can live quite decently even in Munich with twenty-five millions of francs."
But he played the game and laughed the remark aside.
"There is nothing in the animal world so unkind as one beautiful woman to another."
Zoya Rochal shrugged, Liederman scowled, but Rowland smoked quietly, his gaze on the distance.
Inquiries along the road, which was well traveled, revealed no knowledge of Monsieur Khodkine or of his stolen Mercedes--which Max Liederman had paid for--but they drove steadily on, passing Augsburg and reaching their destination late at night, where Herr Liederman drove directly to the house of Georg Senf, which stood in a region of small houses thickly settled.
An enormous bearded head stuck out of a window, heard Liederman's earnest plea, and in a moment they were admitted to the house, where the whole tale of their adventure was told, when Zoya Rochal, protesting that not for twenty-five hundred millions would she lose another hour of sleep, was driven to the Russischer Hof where Rowland and Max Liederman promised to meet her upon the following day.
CHAPTER XIII