“Did you suppose that if they could get hold of you they’d let you go?—A man who might carry in his memory the plans for which they tried to kill you? I wrote to you—I wrote to you to go back to America! And—this is what you have done instead!”
“Well,” he said in a pleasant but rather serious 366 voice, “if you really believe there is danger for me if I remain here, perhaps I’d better go.”
“You can’t go!”
“You think I’ll be stopped?”
“Yes. Who is your crazy companion? I heard that he is Alak Sengoun—the headlong fool—they call Prince Erlik. Is it true?”
“Where did you hear all these things?” he demanded. “Where were you when you heard them?”
“At the Turkish Embassy. Word came that they had caught you. I did not believe it; others present doubted it.... But as the rumour concerned you, I took no chances; I came instantly. I—I had rather be dead than see you here––” Her voice became unsteady, but she controlled it at once:
“Neeland! Neeland! Why did you come? Why have you undone all I tried to do for you––?”
He looked intently at Ilse Dumont, then his gaze swept the handsome suite of rooms. No one seemed to notice him; in perspective, men moved leisurely about the further salon, where play was going on; and there seemed to be no one else in sight. And, as he stood there, free, in full pride and vigour of youth and strength, he became incredulous that anything could threaten him which he could not take care of.
A smile grew in his eyes, confident, humorous, a little hint of tenderness in it: