At his name the smile faded from her face, and one hand slowly reached out and caught the back of a chair.
“Henry Drexel!” she breathed.
“You seem to know it.”
“You are—ah—the American who has been here as the guest of Prince Berloff? Whose cousin is going to marry the prince?”
“Yes.”
She was quite calm again. “Yes, I have heard of you. That’s only natural, for the marriage has been much talked about. Shall we start?”
They were at the door, when she stopped him with a hand upon his arm.
“Something just occurs to me. Would it not be wiser to learn about the trains before we leave? We can better regulate our actions then.”
“Of course. I should have thought of that. I can make inquiries down at the hotel office—as though I were finding out in advance about trains for to-morrow or the next day.” He laid aside his cap and coat. “I’ll be back immediately.”
It was perhaps a dozen minutes since Drexel had entered the hotel. He strolled coolly enough down the stairway, but, the lobby gained, it was only with an effort that he maintained his calm exterior. Near the desk where he could see all who went and came, was the burly captain of gendarmes, his bearded face still ruddy with the outer cold. Reciting some story to him stood the major-domo. Upon the instant Drexel had to alter his plans.