Scheherazade.
CHAPTER XXVIII
TOGETHER
He sat there, holding the letter and looking absently over it at the little dog who had gone to sleep again. There was no sound in the room save the faint whisper of the tea-kettle. The sunny garden outside was very still, too; the blackbird appeared to doze on his peach twig; the kitten had settled down with eyes half closed and tail tucked under flank.
The young man sat there with his letter in his hand and eyes lost in retrospection for a while.
In his hand lay evidence that the gang which had followed him, and through which he no longer doubted that he had been robbed, was now in Paris.
And yet he could not give this information to the Princess Naïa. Here was a letter which he could not show. Something within him forbade it, some instinct which he did not trouble to analyse.
And this instinct sent the letter into his breast pocket as a light sound came to his ears; and the next instant Rue Carew entered the further drawing-room.