The Dark Star

A smile grew in his eyes, confident, humorous, a little hint of

tenderness in it: "Scheherazade," he said, "you are a dear. You pulled me out of a

dreadful mess on the Volhynia. I offer you gratitude, respect, and

the very warm regard for you which I really cherish in my heart."

He took her hands, kissed them, looked up half laughing, half in

earnest.

"If you're worried," he said, "I'll find Captain Sengoun and we'll

depart----"

She retained his hands in a convulsive clasp: "Oh, Neeland! Neeland! There are men below who will never let you

pass! And Breslau and Kestner are coming here later. And that devil,

Damat Mahmud Bey!"

"Golden Beard and Ali Baba and the whole Arabian Nights!" exclaimed

Neeland. "Who is Damat Mahmud Bey, Scheherazade dear?"

"The shadow of Abdul Hamid."

"Yes, dear child, but Abdul the Damned is shut up tight in a

fortress!"

"His shadow dogs the spurred heels of Enver Pasha," she said, striving

to maintain her composure. "Oh, Neeland!--A hundred thousand Armenians

are yet to die in that accursed shadow! And do you think Mahmud Damat

will hesitate in regard to you!"

"Nonsense! Does a murderous Moslem go about Paris killing people he

doesn't happen to fancy? Those things aren't done----"

"Have you and Sengoun any weapons at all?" she interrupted

desperately, "Anything!--A sword cane----?"

"No. What the devil does all this business mean?" he broke out

impatiently. "What's all this menace of lawlessness--this impudent

threat of interference----"

"It is war!"

"War?" he repeated, not quite understanding her.

She caught him by the arm: "War!" she whispered; "War! Do you understand? They don't care what

they do now! They mean to kill you here in this place. They'll be out

of France before anybody finds you."

"Has war actually been declared?" he asked, astounded.

"Tomorrow! It is known in certain circles!" She dropped his arm and

clasped her hands and stood there twisting them, white, desperate,

looking about her like a hunted thing.

"Why did you do this?" she repeated in an agonised voice. "What can I

do? I'm no traitor!... But I'd give you a pistol if I had one----" She

checked herself as the girl who had been reading an evening newspaper

on a sofa, and to whom Neeland had been talking when Ilse Dumont

entered, came sauntering into the room.