She ran back for his greatcoat, held it for him and noted the grimace as he stretched his arms backward for the sleeves.
"What is it?"
"Ribs, head, and shoulder; all in the sick-bay. Lord, but I'm a wreck!"
She picked up the cage and grasped his sleeve. Her heart sang. For an hour or two; to use all her arts in making the episode unforgettable to this man. To mother and coddle him; to run her eager fingers through his fine hair. An hour or two, all, all her own!
In the taxi he told her briefly what had happened and brought the Odyssey to an end by disclosing the fact that Berta had escaped the net.
"But don't worry. I've an idea she'll be too busy to trouble you. She's keen. By now she must understand that the game is up. She will be concerned with little else besides her efforts to get clear of New York. Ten to one, she'll strike for the Orient. I'm sorry. Not that she escaped, but that she was able to hurt you. We're all riddles, aren't we?"
"Berta free?... I'm glad. I can't help it. It may be the turning-point. In all these years she has never met with any serious defeat. Who knows? For if she is her father's daughter, she is also her mother's. God bring her vision to see things clearly! That blond beast's evil influence removed, who knows?"
In the cozy living-room of the apartment a fire burned low. Hilda threw on a log, then helped him off with his coat. As a matter of fact he really had to be helped. Obsessed with the idea of getting his hands on the man Lysgaard's throat, he had laid himself open to many terrible blows. He was going to be very sore and lame to-morrow.
She swung the willow lounge parallel to the fire and forced him to lie down.