"I wanted to ask you," she said in a low voice, "did you kill
them?"
"Not at all, Scheherazade," he replied gaily. "The Irish don't kill;
they beat up their friends; that's all. Fist and blackthorn, my pretty
lass, but nix for the knife and gun."
"How--did you do it?"
"Well, I got tired having a ham-fisted Dutchman pawing me and closing
my mouth with his big splay fingers. So I asked him to slide overboard
and shoved his friend after him."
"Did you shoot them?"
"No, I tell you!" he said disgustedly. "I hadn't a chance in hot
blood, and I couldn't do it in cold. No, Scheherazade, I didn't shoot.
I pulled a gun for dramatic effect, that's all."
After a silence she asked him in a low voice what he intended to do
with her.
"Do? Nothing! Chat affably with you until we reach town, if you don't
mind. Nothing more violent than that, Scheherazade."
The girl, sitting sideways on the sofa, leaned her head against the
velvet corner as though very tired. Her small hands lay in her lap
listlessly, palms up-turned.
"Are you really tired?" he asked.
"Yes, a little."
He took the two pillows from his bed and placed them on the sofa.
"You may lie down if you like, Scheherazade."
"Won't you need them?"
"Sunburst of my soul, if I pillow my head on anything while you are in
the vicinity, it will be on that olive-wood box!"
For the first time the faintest trace of a smile touched her lips. She
turned, settled the pillows to her liking, and stretched out her
supple figure on the sofa with a slight sigh.
"Shall I talk to you, Scheherazade, or let you snuggle into the chaste
arms of Morpheus?"
"I can't sleep."
"Is it a talk-fest, then?"
"I am listening."
"Then, were the two recent gentlemen who so rudely pounced upon me the
same gentlemen who so cheerfully chased me in an automobile when you
made red fire?"
"Yes."
"I was betting on it. Nice-looking man--the one with the classical map
and the golden Frick."
She said nothing.
"Scheherazade," he continued with smiling malice, "do you realise that
you are both ornamental and young? Why so young and murderous, fair
houri? Why delight in manslaughter in any degree? Why cultivate
assault and battery? Why swipe the property of others?"
She closed her eyes on the pillow, but, as he remained silent,
presently opened them again.
"I asked them not to hurt you," she said irrelevantly.
"Who? Oh, your strenuous friends with the footpad technique? Well,
they obeyed you unwillingly."
"Did they hurt you?"
"Oh, no. But the car-wheels might have."
"The car-wheels?"
"Yes. They were all for dumping me down the steps of the vestibule.
But I've got a nasty disposition, Scheherazade, and I kicked and bit
and screamed so lustily that I disgusted them and they simply left the
train and concluded to cut my acquaintance."