The Street of Seven Stars

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

Georgiev recovered himself.

“The Fraulein can do nothing wrong,” he said. “It is a matter of an hour's delay, that is all. It may not be too late.”

Monia Reiff, from the next room, called loudly for more coffee. The sulky Hungarian brought it without a glance in their direction.

“Too late for what?”

“Fraulein, if I may trouble you—but glance from the window to the street below. It is of an urgency, or I—Please, Fraulein!”

Harmony glanced down into the half-light of the street. Georgiev, behind her, watched her, breathless, expectant. Harmony drew in her head.

“Only a man in a green hat,” she said. “And down the street a group of soldiers.”

“Ah!”

The situation dawned on the girl then, at least partially.

“They are coming for you?”