He stood biting at his thumb-nail, looking at the door through which
Etta Alexis had just passed in all the glory of her beauty, wealth, and
position.
"The woman," he said slowly, "who sold me the Charity League papers--and
she thinks I do not recognize her!"
CHAPTER XIX
ON THE NEVA
Karl Steinmetz had apparently been transacting business on the Vassili
Ostrov, which the travelled reader doubtless knows as the northern bank
of the Neva, a part of Petersburg--an island, as the name tells us,
where business is transacted; where steamers land their cargoes and
riverside loafers impede the traffic.
What the business of Karl Steinmetz may have been is not of moment or
interest; moreover, it was essentially the affair of a man capable of
holding his own and his tongue against the world.
He was recrossing the river, not by the bridge, which requires a doffed
hat by reason of its shrine, but by one of the numerous roads cut across
the ice from bank to bank. He duly reached the southern shore, ascending
to the Admiralty Gardens by a flight of sanded steps. Here he lighted a
cigar, and, tucking his hands deep into the pockets of his fur coat, he
proceeded to walk slowly through the bare and deserted public garden.
A girl had crossed the river in front of him at a smart pace. She now
slackened her speed so much as to allow him to pass her.
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