It was the little Georgiev, very apologetic, rather gray of face. He stood in the doorway with his finger on his lips, one ear toward the stairway. It was very silent. Monia was drinking her coffee in bed, whither she had retired for warmth.
“Pardon!” said the Bulgarian in a whisper. “I listened until I heard you moving about. Ah, Fraulein, that I must disturb you!”
“Something has happened!” exclaimed Harmony, thinking of Peter, of course.
“Not yet. I fear it is about to happen. Fraulein, do me the honor to open your window. My pigeon comes now to you to be fed, and I fear—on the sill, Fraulein.”
Harmony opened the window. The wild pigeons scattered at once, but the carrier, flying out a foot or two, came back promptly and set about its breakfast.
“Will he let me catch him?”
“Pardon, Fraulein, If I may enter—”
“Come in, of course.”
Evidently the defection of the carrier had been serious. A handful of grain on a wrong window-sill, and kingdoms overthrown! Georgiev caught the pigeon and drew the message from the tube. Even Harmony grasped the seriousness of the situation. The little Bulgarian's face, from gray became livid; tiny beads of cold sweat came out on his forehead.
“What have I done?” cried Harmony. “Oh, what have I done? If I had known about the pigeon—”