“Go! Go! Go!” she breathed frantically, and she pushed him half resisting into the hall and pulled the curtains before him.
Drexel, watching through the parting of the portières, saw her stand a moment, hand pressed against her heart, striving to calm her heaving bosom and subdue the working passion of her face. Then she opened the door.
“Here I am, Zenia—safe,” said the visitor.
Drexel started at the familiar voice. Then into the room came—Drexel almost let out a cry—the terrorist, James Freeman.
CHAPTER XXI
THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAINS
FREEMAN laid off his overcoat, and stood before her with triumph and exultation in his dark eyes.
“Well—it’s all over,” he whispered. “A success—a tremendous success!”
“Tell me all about it.”
He glanced toward the portières behind which Drexel stood. “You are alone? There are no servants about?”
“I had sent them to bed before you telephoned you were coming.”