The Voice in the Fog - Page 28/93

"It's my belief that Mason got his inspiration from watching me. I am

devilish sorry."

"Then you believe that he is up to his old tricks again?"

"Yes,"--reluctantly. "The man who took my wife's ruby, took your

daughter's sapphires. It needed a clever mind to conceive such a

coup. Three other carriages were entered, with more or less success.

In a dense fog; a needle in a haystack. And they'll never find him."

"It's up to you to put the detectives on the right track."

"I suppose I'll have to do it."

"If he returns to America he'll be caught. I'll give Haggerty the tip."

"I have my doubts of Mason committing any such folly. He picked up a

small fortune that night. Strange mix-up."

"Here, try one of these," urged Killigrew, as the butt of Crawford's

cigar went overboard.

"Thanks."

Thomas moved away from the ventilator. Mix-up, indeed! He stole down

to the promenade deck, where the stewardess informed him that Miss

Killigrew had just ordered her chocolate. He flew to the kitchens. It

was a narrow escape. To have been found wanting the first night out!

"Come in," said a voice in answer to his knock.

He set the tray down on the stool, his heart insurgent and his fingers

all thumbs. He might live to be a steward eighty years old, but he

never would get over the awe, the embarrassment of these invasions by

night. Each time he saw a woman in her peignoir or kimono he felt as

though he had committed a sacrilege. True, he understood their

attitude; he was merely a serving machine and for the time wiped off

the roster of mankind.

A long blue coat of silk brocade enveloped Kitty from her throat to her

sandals; sleeves which fell over her hands; buttoned by loops over

corded knots. An experienced traveler could have told him that it was

the peculiar garment which any self-respecting Chinaman would wear who

was in mourning for his grandfather. Kitty wore it because of its

beauty alone.

"Thank you," she said, as Thomas went out backward, court style. Kitty

smiled across at her maid who was arranging the combs and brushes

preparatory to taking down her mistress' hair. "He looked as if he

were afraid of something, Celeste."

Celeste smiled enigmatically. "Ma'm'selle shoult haff been born in

Pariss."

This was translatable, or not, as you pleased. Kitty sipped the

chocolate and found it excellent. At length she dismissed the maid,

switched off the lights, and then remembered that there was no water in

the carafe. She rang.