In a private nook, he turned a scowling face to the happy Vreeland.
A yellow telegraph envelope fluttered from his hand to the desk as he read again these disquieting words:
“She has telegraphed for a cabin on the ‘Normandie,’ and is coming home alone. Took a special train from Vienna to Havre. All traces of girl lost.”
“Vreeland,” growled the maddened man, “some one has betrayed us. Wait at the Hotel Cecil, London, for my cipher orders.
“That woman is a devil in artfulness, and it is a fight to the death now.”
Ten minutes later, the “Campania” was plowing down the beautiful bay.
CHAPTER XIV.
FOR THE CHILD’S SAKE!
The crowding passengers lounging on the decks of the “Campania” and “Normandie” idly watched the fleeting waves torn up by the ocean racers as they swept by each other in mid-ocean four days later, but there were strangely agitated hearts, too, on the passing steamers, when the signal flags were broken out.
For, the secret enemies now swept past each other at the distance of a few furlongs.