He rubbed his forehead. “Well, of all situations a sane man ever got into!” he muttered. When he next spoke there was again a touch of irony in his voice. “At least,” he drawled, “would it be considered an intrusion into matters which are none of my concern, if I asked what is going to happen to me?”
“You will merely be detained till we feel it is safe to release you. Ivan and Nicolai are treating you all right? We had to act instantly, and they were the only persons we could upon the instant command.”
“Oh, they’re nice enough boys, I guess,” said Drexel. “But I wish they lived at a better hotel. The janitor here doesn’t know it is winter yet, and keeps the steam heat turned off; my bed, that sofa there, is upholstered with soft coal and soup-bones; and the chef—well, the chef’s repertoire is limited to tea and bologna. But I guess I can stand it.”
She smiled slightly, but the smile was instantly gone. “Your inconvenience is being suffered to render more secure a great cause.”
“And to render more secure your life?”
“And my life,” she added.
She held out her hand. “Again I apologize, and again I thank you. Good-bye.”
“You are not going!” cried Drexel—but he did not miss the opportunity of taking her hand. “Not yet—please! There is something I want to ask you.”
“Yes?”
He looked straight into her eyes. “It is this: Who are you?”