“In Vienna, Friday!”
“There should be great deeds, my dear Jules;” and Monsieur Durand adjusted the wick of a smoking brass lamp that hung suspended from the ceiling of a room of the inn, store and post-office at Lamar.
“Meanwhile, this being but Wednesday, we have our work to do.”
“Which is not so simple after all, as one studies the situation. Mr. Armitage is here, quite within reach. We suspect him of being a person of distinction. He evinced unusual interest in a certain document that was once in your own hands—”
“Our own hands, if you would be accurate!”
“You are captious; but granted so, we must get them back. The gentleman is dwelling in a bungalow on the mountain side, for greater convenience in watching events and wooing the lady of his heart’s desire. We employed a clumsy clown to put him out of the world; but he dies hard, and now we have got to get rid of him. But if he hasn’t the papers on his clothes then you have this pleasant scheme for kidnapping him, getting him down to your steamer at Baltimore and cruising with him until he is ready to come to terms. The American air has done much for your imagination, my dear Jules; or possibly the altitude of the hills has over-stimulated it.”
“You are not the fool you look, my dear Durand. You have actually taken a pretty fair grasp of the situation.”
“But the adorable young lady, the fair Mademoiselle Claiborne,—what becomes of her in these transactions?”
“That is none of your affair,” replied Chauvenet, frowning. “I am quite content with my progress. I have not finished in that matter.”
“Neither, it would seem, has Mr. John Armitage! But I am quite well satisfied to leave it to you. In a few days we shall know much more than we do now. I should be happier if you were in charge in Vienna. A false step there—ugh! I hesitate to think of the wretched mess there would be.”