Impostors and imposture -- Fiction; Short stories; Swindlers and swindling -- Fiction; Thieves -- Fiction
"And yet my duty was to remain there, for at noon on the morrow, by the
Orient Express from Constantza to Ostend, a friend would pass whom I
particularly wanted to meet on business for a single moment at the
station. If I left with my pretty companion I should pass my friend on
the Black Sea a few hours out of port. It meant either keeping the
appointment I had made with my friend, or securing the girl's safety.
To perform my duty meant to consign her into the hands of the police.
"Acquaintance with political refugees of any sort in the Balkan
countries is always extremely risky, for spies abound everywhere, and
everybody is a suspect.
"I fear I am not very impressionable where the fair sex are concerned,
but the romance and mystery of the situation whetted my appetite for the
truth. Her sweet tragic face appealed to me. I had fallen in love with
her.
"She interpreted my hesitation as an intention to refuse.
"`Ah! M'sieur Martin. Do, I beg, have pity upon me! Once in your
England I shall no longer fear those tortures of Riga. See!' and
drawing up her sleeve she showed me two great ugly red scars upon the
white flesh scarcely yet healed. `Once in your England!' she cried
clasping her hands and falling at my feet, `I shall be free--_free_!'
"`But how do you know that the police have followed you?'
"`Mariniski, our military _attache_ in Sofia, is my cousin. He warned
me that two agents of Secret Police arrived there yesterday morning.
When I got here I received a wire from him to say they are now on their
way here to Bucharest. Therefore not a moment must be lost. We can
leave at three, and at ten to-morrow morning will have sailed from
Constantza. They are due here at eleven-thirty.'
"`To-night?'
"`No, to-morrow.'
"She held my hands in hers, still upon her knees, her gaze fixed
imploringly into mine. What could I do, save to render her assistance?
Ah! yes, she was delightfully charming, her face perfect in its beauty,
her hands soft and caressing, her voice musical and silvery.
"I gave her my reply, and in an instant she sprang to her feet, kissing
my hands again and again.
"I sent the car back to Vienna, and early that morning we entered the
train of dusty _wagons-lits_ which had been three days on its journey
from Ostend to the Orient, and next morning in the bright sunshine,
found ourselves on the clean deck of the mail steamer for
Constantinople.
"There were not more than twenty passengers, and together with my dainty
little companion, I spent a happy day in the bright sunshine, as we
steamed down the Black Sea, a twelve-hour run. Dinner was at half-past
five, and afterwards, in the evening twilight, as we passed the Turkish
forts at the beautiful entrance to the Bosphorus, we sat together in a
cosy corner on deck, and I held her small, soft hand.
"She had, I admit, completely enchanted me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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