"Yes."
They spoke no more of Ryanne. It was as though he had dropped out of their lives completely. To a certain extent he had. They were to meet him once again, however, in the last act of this whimsical drama, which had drawn them both out of the commonplace and dropped them for a full spin upon the whirligig of life.
In due time they arrived at Alexandria. There they found the great transatlantic liner, homeward bound.
Ryanne would beat them into New York by ten days. He had picked up a boat of the P. & O. line at Port Saïd, sailing without stop to Marseilles. From there to Cherbourg was a trifling journey.
George knew the captain, and the captain not only knew George, but had known George's father before him. The young man went to the heart of the matter at once; and when he had finished his remarkable tale, the captain lowered his cigar. It had gone out.
"And all this happened in the year 1909-1910! If any one but you, Mr. Jones, had told me this, I'd have sent him ashore as a lunatic. You have reported it?"
"What good would it do? We are out of it, and that's enough. More, we do not want any one to know what we've been through. If the newspapers got hold of it, there would be no living."
"You leave it to me," said the big-hearted German. "From here to Naples she shall be as mine own daughter. You have not told me all?"
"No; only what I had of necessity to tell."
"Well, you know best I shall do my share to make her feel at home. She is as pretty as a flower."