“Ben?”

“Yes, I’m listening.”

“I’ll stay in Paris if there’s trouble.”

“And throw Stein down?”

“What else is there to do?”

“Well, you can wait, can’t you? You don’t seem to be able to do that any more, but you better learn.”

“All right. What next?”

“Make a quick getaway. Now!”

“Yes, I’m going at once. Keep me posted, Ben. Be good!”

He hung up and went out to the wide, tree-shaded street where Ruhannah sat in the runabout 95 awaiting him, and the new chauffeur stood by the car.

95

He took off his straw hat, pulled a cap and goggles from his pocket. His man placed the straw hat in the boot.

“Get what you wanted, Rue?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Been waiting long?”

“I—don’t think so.”

“All right,” he said cheerily, climbing in beside her. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Had a business matter to settle. Hungry?”

Rue, very still and colourless, said no, with a mechanical smile. The chauffeur climbed to the rumble.

“I’ll jam her through,” nodded Brandes as the car moved swiftly westward. “We’ll lunch in Albany on time.”

Half a mile, and they passed Neeland’s Mills, where old Dick Neeland stood in his boat out on the pond and cast a glittering lure for pickerel.

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