He had
wisely begun by asking more than he knew he was at all likely to get,
and was now obliged to be satisfied with the compromise.
Disappointment followed his search for the whereabouts of Count
Vladimir. The owner of "_The Witch_" was expected back in Barcelona in
a month or so, no one knew exactly when. Letters might be addressed
Poste Restante, Corfu, for he was cruising in his phantom craft through
those sapphire seas that lie round about the Ionian Islands.
There was nothing to do but to write and wait. One piece of ill-luck
was following close upon another, and Emile felt that he needed all the
consolations that his cynical philosophy could afford.
His anxiety on Arithelli's behalf was fast becoming an obsession. When
she had first come into his life he had wondered sometimes how she
would stand the late hours and all the hardships of a circus training,
but after her one outburst she had never complained again.
He thought the sea-trip had done her good. Of course she always looked
pale, but then that was her type.
He had also been impressed with the unwonted seriousness of Michael,
knowing that in spite of his erratic ways the doctor understood his
craft.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161