“By this time,” she remarked quietly, “I dare say there are fifty thousand.”
“Fifty thousand!” he slowly ejaculated, and stared at her. “Then,” cried he, “all the greater is your need for passing as an American! They have a description of you?”
“I’m sure they cannot have a clear one.”
He began to pace the room. “What shall we do?” he asked himself. “What shall we do?”
Suddenly he paused. “I have it. Passports are not required for travelling on trains. Except in such rare cases as this afternoon. We shall go upon a trip—as Americans—one lasting for days, or till we can think of something better. If any trouble rises, I’ll bluff it out. Are you willing?”
“It is I who should ask the question of you.”
“Then it is settled!” He was fairly swept out of himself by the prospect of days spent in her company. The danger—that was nothing!
“But how can we leave the hotel, without its looking queer?” she asked. “There is your bag, you know.”
“We’ll not take it. Luckily there’s nothing about it to reveal my identity. The things in it we really need I can put in the big pockets of my shuba,” and he pointed at his great loose fur coat. “We’ll simply saunter out with the air of going for a stroll. A bag and anything else we want we can buy at some little shop.”
She nodded. “And I noticed there was a side entrance, out of which we might slip without being seen.”