The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1923-04-21
CHAPTER VII.

the dressing-table did not scream
out. She did not even swing about
in her. fragile-looking chair Of
cream and gold. She sat, leaning
a little forward. staring past her
own image in the mirror.
Her face had lost the last of its
color. Her arms, Kestner could
now see, were stippeld with a faint
nothing of color. The droop of
the torso was eloquent of sud
denly diverted attention. It was
plain that she had caught sight Of
the head about the screen-top. Then
her prepossession seemed to return
to her, for she suddenly rose from
her chair and faced the other side
of the room.
1t was at the same moment that
Morello, nettled by the discovery
of his spying attitude, stepped
into the open. The two strangely
divergent figures stood confront
ing each other for several seconds
of unbroken< silence. Then the
woman spoke.
What are you doing here?" she
demanded, her voice clear and
reed-like but little tense with its
angry challenge.
ST came back? Morello spoke
quietly, almost humbly.
'Why?"
81 came back" he repeated, "for
your
He held out his two hands as he
spoke, with gesture that was
enthusiastically Latin, as cx-
otto as the information of the Eng
lish which he spoke almost with
out accent. But Kestner noticed
that the outstretched hands were
shaking a little.
Tony" demanded the woman
again, more sharply this time,
what does this mean?"
He took step nearer to her
before he spoke again. Kestner
could detect a growing tenseness
in that strange and swarthy fig
ure. He could see an animal-like
radiance in the seal-brown eyes.
Malignancy was not the note of
that passionate figure. It seemed
more one of tragic misery.
II cannot waltz cannotv Mo-
relic half whispered, closing the
fingers of his outstretched hands
and then drawing his arms quick
ly back until the closed fists
smote on his breast. It was an
eloquent gesture; unconsciously
it made the watching Kestner
think of grand-opera hero; it's
one redemption was its sincerity.
You were to meet Fonaro in
Washington" the woman said
with a sharp note Of reproof.
"No, that was useless. / have
been Swallowed. I was followed.
/ saw it was no good. So l turned
back"
She stood studying him.
"Then you were followed here"
she cried.
He shook his head.
THAT was impossible" he replied,
with his eyes always fixed on her
face.
Nothing is impossible, with
things as they are!' she quickly
warned him.
''It is impossible" he repeated.
"And youn knew I was alone?"
Eyes," he admitted, with the
imploring hands again thrust out
toward her. II knew, and 1
came"
She was breathing more quickly
by this time and touch Of color
had come to either cheek.
Then you must go!' was her
summary command.
The Neapolitan stood with his
head bowed. II cannot" he said
with almost a moan.
Maura Lambert took a step
nearer him and was about to
speak when the telephone bell on
the dressing table shrilled out a
sudden alarm. She crossed to the
table and took up the receiver,
cupping the bell with her hand.
She sat listening, poured a quick
torrent Of French into the phone
and then sat listening again, in
terrupting with an intent mono
syllable or two. Then she hung
up the receiver and swung about
on Morello.
Listen" she said sharply.
There's been trouble. Father
was Swallowed and held up in
Central Park. They struck him
and took everything. He pretend.
ed to be unconscious until the
chance came, then he slipped out
Of the cab and got away in the
park. He's just sent word to
Cherry and Fontana"
NM