"
"No?"
"No, my astute friend. There is a little matter connected with Sydney
Bamborough which has come to my knowledge."
Etta moved, but she said nothing. The sound of her breathing was
startlingly loud.
"Ah! Sydney Bamborough," said Steinmetz slowly. "What about him?"
"He is not dead; that is all."
Karl Steinmetz passed his broad hand down over his face, covering his
mouth for a second.
"But he died. He was found on the steppe, and buried at Tver."
"So the story runs," said De Chauxville, with easy sarcasm. "But who
found him on the steppe? Who buried him at Tver?"
"I did, my friend."
The next second Steinmetz staggered back a step or two as Etta fell
heavily into his arms. But he never took his eyes off De Chauxville.
CHAPTER XXXVII
A DEUX
Steinmetz laid Etta on a sofa. She was already recovering consciousness.
He rang the bell twice, and all the while he kept his eye on De
Chauxville. A quick touch on Etta's wrist and breast showed that this
man knew something of women and of those short-lived fainting fits that
belong to strong emotions.
The maid soon came.
"The princess requires your attention," said Steinmetz, still watching
De Chauxville, who was looking at Etta and neglecting his opportunities.
Steinmetz went up to him and took him by the arm.
"Come with me," he said.
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