Prince or Chauffeur? A Story of NewportPerry, Lawrence
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Prince or Chauffeur? A Story of Newport
Perry, Lawrence
Newport (R.I.) -- Fiction
With a dry howl of rage, Koltsoff flung himself into a chair, tearing
wildly at his hair and beard, while Armitage, his hands thrust deep
into his trousers pockets, stared at Anne. So far as the control was
concerned, while its loss would set his work back several weeks, it at
least was out of Koltsoff's hands and that naturally was the main
thing. It would, in fact, have been a source of deepest joy to him had
not the shock of Anne's wholly unlooked-for attitude and subsequent
wild act almost unnerved him.
"A traitor! Anne Wellington a traitor!" he said in a quivering voice.
"Traitor!" Anne's voice rose almost to a wail. She turned suddenly to
Koltsoff. "Of course you understand that you must leave us as soon as
possible." Koltsoff, who had arisen, eyed her sullenly. She turned to
Jack, who met her eyes straight. "And--and you--"
She paused and studied his face. "You--" She swayed and pressed her
hand to her forehead. There was a flash of white and Sara Van
Valkenberg's arms were about her. And there with her head on Sara's
shoulders, she wept bitterly. The older woman caught Armitage with her
eyes as she passed out of the room.
"You fool!" she said, then she bent toward him, whispering, "but don't
you dare go away!"
CHAPTER XXV
THE EXPATRIATE
In the doorway Armitage paused and as Sara and Anne brushed silently
past him, he turned back into the room. Without looking at Koltsoff,
who was fumbling at push buttons and roaring for his valet, he walked
over to Takakika, took a knife from his pocket, reached down and cut
his silken fetters.
"There," he said with a grim smile, "I did n't leave you bound to the
mercies of His Highness over there. Put that to my credit when you
pray to the ancient Samurai."
The Jap scrambled to his feet, rolled his eyes angrily at Armitage, and
then shot out of the room like a bolt from a gun. Jack followed him,
making his way to the rear stairway and thus out into the night.
Doggedly he strode to the clump of bushes where he had hidden the bag
and his fingers were on the handle, when, with a quick exclamation, he
released his hold and sat down on the turf, his head in his hands.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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