Artists -- Fiction; Short stories, American; Storytelling -- Fiction
"'You are not,' she said, crumpling the card in her hand and slipping it
into her dress. 'It was only a very cheap ruse of mine. I saw you at the
next table and knew your nationality at once. You can help me, if you
will, and you are the only one who can. You seemed to be sent to me. I
thought it all out and determined what to do. You see how calm I am, and
yet my hands have been icy cold waiting for you. I dared not hope you
would really come until I saw you enter and speak to Polski. But you
cannot stay here; you may be seen and I do not want you to be seen--not
now. We Poles are watched night and day; someone may come in and you
might have to tell who you are, and that must not be.' Then she added
cautiously, her eyes fastened on his, 'Your passport--you have one, have
you not?'
"'Yes, for all over Europe.'
"'Oh, yes; of course.' This came with a sigh of relief, as if she had
dreaded another answer. 'That is the right way to travel while this
revolution goes on. Yes, yes; a passport is quite necessary. Now give me
your address. Metropole? Which room? Number thirty-nine? Very well; I'll
be there at eight o'clock to-morrow night. Never mind the coffee, I will
pay for it with mine. Go--now--out the other door; not the one you came
in. There is somebody coming--quick!'
"The tone of her voice and the look in her eye lifted him out of his
seat and started him toward the door without another word. She was
evidently accustomed to be obeyed.
"The next night at eight precisely there came a rap at his door and a
woman wrapped in a coarse shawl, and with a basket covered with a cloth
on her arm, stood outside.
"'I have brought Monsieur's laundry,' she said. 'Shall I lay it in the
bedroom or here in the salon?' and she stepped inside.
"The door shut, she laid the empty basket on the floor and threw back
her shawl.
"'Don't be worried,' she said, turning the key in the lock, 'and don't
ask any questions. I will go as I came. Someone might have stopped me. I
got this basket and shawl from my own laundress. There will be no one
here? You are sure? Then let me sit beside you and tell you what I could
not last night.
"'Our people go to that café,' she continued, as she led him to the
sofa, 'because, strange to say, the police think none of us would dare
go there. That makes it the safest. Besides, every one of the servants
is our friend.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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