His eye caught a headline. “The Aquitania sailing with a distinguished crowd on board.”
What! the ship already back and sailing again? It was the usual summer rush; he knew most of the names. One riveted his gaze. He read it once, twice, three times; the paper dropped from his hand. He saw that name wherever he looked. Martin Steele had sailed on the Aquitania.
It was ten days before the next steamer crowded with pleasure-seekers sailed for England. At the last moment Floyd came on board, too late to have his name in the passenger list. The only cabin left was on the lowest deck inside. He went down, locked the door, unpacked his valise. Most of its space was taken up by a silver-mounted leather box—one would say an elegant toilette case. He opened it, took out a brace of shining pistols, examined each one carefully, and put it back in the box. He had no definite plan, but when a man catches a thief in his house he shoots him....
17
Martin arrived in London and put up at the Savoy; he noticed the crowds of fine young fellows and beautifully dressed women.
“Is there anything unusual going on tonight?”
“Yes,” said the polite young clerk, “a dinner and dance, in honor of Mrs. Garrison, an American lady.”
Julie had been received by the Ambassador in London with great cordiality, on account of his old friendship for Jimmie Garrison. Mary wrote to Mr. Garrison:
You have all reason to be well satisfied with your wife. We have done the right thing. She is enjoying herself. She looks like a young girl; the element which disturbed her has disappeared. I find her so much more normal.