At two o’clock Jackson Dane and Vera Bright came down the private stairs leading to the street, and they were quarreling.
“Ach!” muttered the German. “Yoost hear dot!”
It was a jealous quarrel; he could make that out, though he could get only a word now and then.
“Vhen lofers blay oudt, dhen der dickens iss to bay!” muttered the baron. “Mr. Shackson Dane iss two-vaced, somehow; yidt I tond’t seen yoost how. Dot misinformation may gome py me lader. Yaw!”
He could not see the man and the girl at first, but soon they came out through the door, still quarreling, and he had a fair view of them; so knew he was not mistaken as to their identity.
Dane strode up the street, and the girl went back into the building.
The baron pretended to awake with a snort; then rose heavily, and stretched himself.
“Ouch!” he muttered. “I am going to gatch so mooch coldt sidding here dot I petter gidt me avay.”
And he did.
He slouched into the street, which was pretty well deserted by that time; then, getting the bearings of Jackson Dane, he began to follow him, with care.