He tore
it into pieces and sent it after the knife. Then he polished the bright
steel with his pocket-handkerchief, from the evil point to the hilt,
where the government mark and the word "Toledo" were deeply engraved.
"Unless I keep it clean it sticks," he explained. "And if you want it at
all, you want it in a hurry--like a woman's heart, eh?"
He was looking up and down the street as he spoke, and shot the blade
back into its sheath. He turned and examined the ground to make sure
that nothing was left there.
"The light was good," he said, appreciatively, "and the ground favorable
for--for the autumn manoeuvres."
And he broke into a gay laugh.
"Come," he said. "Let us go back into the more frequented streets.
This back way was not a success--only proves that it never does to turn
tail."
"How did you know," asked Cartoner, "that this was coming off?"
"Quite simple, my friend. I was at the window when you arrived at
the Europe. You were followed. Or, at all events, I thought you were
followed. So I made up my mind to walk back with you and see. Veni,
vidi, vici--you understand?"
And again his clear laugh broke the silence of that back street, while
he made a pass at an imaginary foe with his stick.
Pages:
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229