landed?" His smile vanished as he saw her leg and the bandages. "What happened?" He was perhaps forty years old, well groomed, graceful of carriage, with smooth dark hair, intelligent dark eyes-solicitous at the moment-and a close-clipped dark mustache. He pushed the dog aside and took the woman's hand.
"It is not serious, I think." She did not smile. Her voice was cool. "I stumbled in the road and twisted my ankle. These people have been very-"
He turned to the man in the gray sweater, holding out his hand, saying briskly: "Thanks ever so much for taking care of Fraulein Fischer. You're Brazil, aren't you?"
The man in the sweater nodded. "And you'd be Kane Robson."
"Right." Robson jerked his head at the man who still stood just inside the door. "Mr. Conroy."
Brazil nodded. Conroy said, "How do you do," and advanced toward Luise Fischer. He was an inch or two taller than Robson-who was nearly six feet himself-and some ten years younger, blond, broad-shouldered, and lean, with a beautifully shaped small head and remarkably symmetrical features. A dark overcoat hung over one of his arms and he carried a black hat in his hand. He smiled down at the woman and said: "Your idea of a lark's immense."
She addressed Robson: "Why have you come here?"
He smiled amiably, raised his shoulders a little. "You said you weren't feeling well and were going to lie down. When Helen went up to your room to see how you were, you weren't there. We were afraid you had gone out and something had happened to you." He looked at her leg, moved his shoulders again. "Well, we were right."
Nothing in her face responded to his smile. "I am going to the city," she told him. "Now you know."
"All right, if you want to"-he was good-natured-"but you can't go like that." He nodded at her torn evening dress. "We'll take you back home, where you can change your clothes and pack a bag and-" He turned to Brazil. "When's the next train?"
Brazil said: "Six." The dog was sniffing at his legs.
"You see," Robson said blandly, speaking to the woman again. "There's plenty of time."
She looked down at her clothes and seemed to find them satisfactory. "I go like this," she replied.
"Now, look here, Luise," Robson began again, quite reasonably. "You've got hours before train time-time enough to get some rest and a nap and to-"
She said simply: "I have gone."
Robson grimaced impatiently, half humorously, and turned his palms out in a gesture of helplessness. "But what are you going to do?" he asked in a tone that matched the gesture. "You're not going to expect Brazil to put you up till train time and then drive you to the station?"
She looked at Brazil with level eyes and asked calmly: "Is it too much?"
Brazil shook his head carelessly. "Uh-uh."
Robson and Conroy turned together to look at Brazil. There was considerable interest in their eyes, but no visible hostility. He bore the inspection placidly.
Luise Fischer said coolly, with an air of finality: "So."
Conroy looked questioningly at Robson, who sighed wearily and asked: "Your mind's made up on this, Luise?"
"Yes."
Robson shrugged again, said: "You always know what you want." Face and voice were grave. He started to turn away toward the door, then stopped to ask: "Have you got enough money?" One of his hands went into the inner breast pocket of his dinner jacket.
"I want nothing," she told him.
"Right. If you want anything later, let me know. Come on, Dick."
He went to the door, opened it, twisted his head around to direct a brisk "Thanks, good night" at Brazil, and went out.
Conroy touched Luise Fischer's forearm lightly with three fingers, said "Good luck" to her, bowed to Evelyn and Brazil, and followed Robson out.
The dog raised his head to watch the two men go out. The girl Evelyn stared at the door with despairing eyes and worked her hands together. Luise Fischer told Brazil: "You will be wise to lock your door."
He stared at her for a long moment, brooding, and while no actual change
"It is not serious, I think." She did not smile. Her voice was cool. "I stumbled in the road and twisted my ankle. These people have been very-"
He turned to the man in the gray sweater, holding out his hand, saying briskly: "Thanks ever so much for taking care of Fraulein Fischer. You're Brazil, aren't you?"
The man in the sweater nodded. "And you'd be Kane Robson."
"Right." Robson jerked his head at the man who still stood just inside the door. "Mr. Conroy."
Brazil nodded. Conroy said, "How do you do," and advanced toward Luise Fischer. He was an inch or two taller than Robson-who was nearly six feet himself-and some ten years younger, blond, broad-shouldered, and lean, with a beautifully shaped small head and remarkably symmetrical features. A dark overcoat hung over one of his arms and he carried a black hat in his hand. He smiled down at the woman and said: "Your idea of a lark's immense."
She addressed Robson: "Why have you come here?"
He smiled amiably, raised his shoulders a little. "You said you weren't feeling well and were going to lie down. When Helen went up to your room to see how you were, you weren't there. We were afraid you had gone out and something had happened to you." He looked at her leg, moved his shoulders again. "Well, we were right."
Nothing in her face responded to his smile. "I am going to the city," she told him. "Now you know."
"All right, if you want to"-he was good-natured-"but you can't go like that." He nodded at her torn evening dress. "We'll take you back home, where you can change your clothes and pack a bag and-" He turned to Brazil. "When's the next train?"
Brazil said: "Six." The dog was sniffing at his legs.
"You see," Robson said blandly, speaking to the woman again. "There's plenty of time."
She looked down at her clothes and seemed to find them satisfactory. "I go like this," she replied.
"Now, look here, Luise," Robson began again, quite reasonably. "You've got hours before train time-time enough to get some rest and a nap and to-"
She said simply: "I have gone."
Robson grimaced impatiently, half humorously, and turned his palms out in a gesture of helplessness. "But what are you going to do?" he asked in a tone that matched the gesture. "You're not going to expect Brazil to put you up till train time and then drive you to the station?"
She looked at Brazil with level eyes and asked calmly: "Is it too much?"
Brazil shook his head carelessly. "Uh-uh."
Robson and Conroy turned together to look at Brazil. There was considerable interest in their eyes, but no visible hostility. He bore the inspection placidly.
Luise Fischer said coolly, with an air of finality: "So."
Conroy looked questioningly at Robson, who sighed wearily and asked: "Your mind's made up on this, Luise?"
"Yes."
Robson shrugged again, said: "You always know what you want." Face and voice were grave. He started to turn away toward the door, then stopped to ask: "Have you got enough money?" One of his hands went into the inner breast pocket of his dinner jacket.
"I want nothing," she told him.
"Right. If you want anything later, let me know. Come on, Dick."
He went to the door, opened it, twisted his head around to direct a brisk "Thanks, good night" at Brazil, and went out.
Conroy touched Luise Fischer's forearm lightly with three fingers, said "Good luck" to her, bowed to Evelyn and Brazil, and followed Robson out.
The dog raised his head to watch the two men go out. The girl Evelyn stared at the door with despairing eyes and worked her hands together. Luise Fischer told Brazil: "You will be wise to lock your door."
He stared at her for a long moment, brooding, and while no actual change
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