“Did they see you?” demanded Gatineau, more practically. He had a sudden, unpleasant vision of the crafty Méduse Smythe sending telegrams ahead of them, warning Neuburg, upsetting their own hair-brained plan.
“I’m certain they didn’t,” said Clement. “And—and do you think, from their attitudes, that they did?”
Both men had drawn into the cover of their car, and as they looked, it was quite obvious to them that they had not been seen.
Uneasiness was not expected from Heloise; still, if she had seen Clement, with whom she had quarreled, who, on the word of Méduse, she was also well on the way to love, she must have shown some sort of nervousness. She showed none.
The Gorgon companion, who had every reason to show anxiety if she had, unexpectedly, set eyes upon that enemy who disconcerted her most—Clement Seadon—showed no anxiety. She was calm and smiling. With just the right smiling calm—no amount of acting could have given her precisely that air.
“No, they haven’t seen us,” said Clement.
“No, they certainly haven’t,” said Gatineau. “All the same——” he began, and he realized Clement’s intent gaze and stopped, and smothered a grin. Clement would not be fit for comment or reasoning until the train pulled out.
Clement gazed hungrily at Heloise. During the days of excitement and anxiety he had thought incessantly of her, and had, he thought, created an unreal dream woman. But as he looked at her he saw that she was better even than his dream. The beauty of her features, the charm of her movements, the whole crisp, boyish attraction of her came to him, even now, as a fresh revelation. Her car moved and he moved with it towards the observation platform.
“Mr. Seadon,” Gatineau protested. “The light shines upon the platform, if they turned and saw you....”
With a sigh Clement relinquished the most desirable sight in the world. Their own train started.