"We will take all responsibility," urged the Chief of Police; and O'Rane began to yield with a bad grace. "They are just formal questions...."
For five minutes O'Rane reluctantly allowed a minimum of uncompromising information to be corkscrewed out of him. Sonia's Christian name, surname and address were confirmed, but he knew nothing of her age and the reason for her presence in Austria. On the subject of her parents he was slightly more communicative, but Sir Roger Dainton, Baronet (or Knight—O'Rane knew little of these dime distinctions among, the British aristocracy) was only known to fame as the director of a company which his firm had the honour to supply with Carinthian oil. That was all he could say, and more than he cared to take the responsibility of saying. He was, of course, happy to be of assistance to either party, provided the strict neutrality of his country were maintained, and would hold himself at the disposal of Miss Dainton or of the police authorities until his departure for Italy the following day. Perhaps in return the Chief of Police would tell him if any difficulties were to be anticipated in crossing the frontier....
The next morning a clerk from the police head-quarters called at the Imperial Hotel. O'Rane was seated in shirtsleeves in his private room, with a green cigar jutting out of his mouth and the table in front of him littered with specifications and oil-prices. The clerk announced that there seemed no reason to detain Miss Dainton any longer, but she had exhausted her money and could hardly travel back to England without assistance.
"Guess that young woman regards me as a pocket-size providence," observed O'Rane impatiently. "I'm not through with my mail yet. What's the damage anyway? No, figure it out in dollars, I've no use for your everlasting krones. Or see here, you freeze on to these bills and fix things at the hotel, and, if Miss Dainton can get her baggage to the depot by four o'clock, I'll take her slick through to Genoa and put her on a packet there. It's no great way out of my road. I guess your Chief will fix her papers for her. That all? Then I'll finish off my mail."
At a quarter to four he met Sonia at the station and greeted her with the words, "Guess you don't give a row of beans how soon you're quit of this township, Miss Dainton."
As they crossed the frontier he threw his cigar out of the window and began filling a pipe.
"Now, young lady, perhaps you'll explain yourself," he said.
IV
In what follows I have for authority the account of O'Rane, given hurriedly and with unconcentrated mind, and that of Sonia, acidulated with the bitterness of a pampered woman suddenly exposed to a torrent of unexpected insult. Sonia's conscience, if she have one, must have been disturbed when her deliverance came at the hands of a man whom her greatest adulators could hardly say she had treated well. She was prepared to make acknowledgement. O'Rane, however, gave her no opportunity.