First and foremost disagreeable; that the men in the gray automobile
were helping Miss Falconer in some nefarious business. In this case, it
would be up to me to fight the gentlemen single-handed, rescue the girl,
and escort her back to Paris, all without scandal. Easier said than
done!
Second possibility: that Miss falconer, pausing at Bleau only en route,
might already have departed, and that I would be left with my journey
for my pains.
Third: that the gray car had no connection with her; that she had some
entirely blameless errand. I hoped so, I was sure. If this proved true,
I was bound to stand branded as a meddling, officious idiot, one who, in
defiance of the most elementary social rules, persisted in trailing her
against her will. Vastly pleasant, indeed!
Fuming, I shifted my bag from one hand to the other and walked faster.
Night was falling, but it was not yet really dark, and I formed a
clear enough notion of the village as I traversed it. It was one of the
hundreds of its kind which make an artists' paradise of France. Entirely
unmodernized, it was the more picturesque for that.
Pages:
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143