We exchanged bows and I seated myself.
"By the way," I remarked carelessly, "her name is Thusis." And I filled my glass and took a squint at its color. Not that I knew anything about Moselle.
"What else is her name?" he inquired.
"She declines to answer further. Thusis seems to be her limit."
"I told you she was a mystery!" he exclaimed with lively interest. "What else did she say to you, Michael?"
"Her sister is coming to-night. Also a lady-friend named Josephine Vannis; and a farmer of sorts called Raoul Despres."
"Take it from me," said Smith, "that if truth is stranger than fiction in these days, this red-haired girl called Thusis is no more Swiss than you are!"
"No more of a peasant than you are a Norwegian," I nodded.
"And whoinhell," he inquired, keeping his countenance, "ever heard of a South American named O'Ryan?"
"It's a matter of Chilean history, old top."