"There I will supply you with medical supplies. In some manner or
other you can manage to do up your hair and resume your disguise. You
will remain in your stateroom--under arrest--until such time as you
are cast loose, tomorrow, in your plane."
"Tomorrow?"
"I should say, sometime before night of the day that has already
begun. Food and drink will be brought you, of course."
"That's very good of you, sir." Her smile tantalized. The curt
laconicism of her manner, in the masculine role, had changed to the
softer ways of womankind. Despite himself, the Master was constrained
to admire her ability as an actress.
"Of course you realize," she continued, "that to cast me loose in a
plane, with only one serviceable arm, will be equivalent to committing
cold-blooded murder."
"A mere detail!"
"A mere detail--to murder a woman?"
"Pardon me, you misunderstand. I mean, the manner in which you are to
leave Nissr matters little, so long as you leave. I will see that you
are safely landed--that no harm arrives to you.
"But you--shall not remain with us. Now, kindly stay here. Lock the
cabin door after I have gone, and admit no one until I return. I will
signal you with two triple knocks, thus."
He illustrated the knocks, on the table, and, unlocking the door, left
the cabin in a black humor. The sound of the woman locking the door
after him, the knowledge that he had been obliged to make up a little
code for readmission, angered him as he rarely had been angered.
Self-protection, however, demanded these subterfuges. To let the
secret escape, and to be obliged to admit having been deceived by
a woman, would fatally lower his prestige with the Legionaries. How
could he, if known to be the dupe of a woman, command those hard, bold
men?
Humiliated, yet in his heart thankful that no one had yet penetrated
the secret--as Dr. Lombardo easily might have done, had he laid
forcible hands on "Captain Alden"--the Master set about the necessary
task of himself preparing a stateroom and providing the requisite
medical supplies.
Lombardo asked no questions. His eyes, however, had grown quizzical.
No one else seemed to notice what the Master was about. Each was busy
in his own place, at his own task.
Twenty minutes had passed before all was ready and the Master could
return to his cabin. He rapped as agreed, and was admitted, feeling
his cheeks burn at even the analogy between this clandestine entrance
and some vulgar liaison--a thing he scrupulously had avoided all his
life.
"Come!" he directed. She followed him. Silently he ushered her into
her appointed place. No one had seen them. He followed her into the
little stateroom, closed the door, folded his arms and confronted her
with a grim face.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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