A Princess of the Balkans/Chapter 4
CHAPTER IV.
"The question is," observed Sir James, the following day, as the two were at déjeuner in Dallas' luxurious apartment on the Avenue de l'Alma, "how to find 'em again."
"That should not be hard," said Dallas. "Rosenthal is too conspicuous a figure to lose himself in Paris."
"Look here," said Sir James, "tell you what I'll do. I know a South American woman here in Paris who is acquainted with all the unusual people. Her salon is usually full of Oriental nabobs and abdicating presidents and nihilists and shady Balkan royalties and that sort of truck. She is Señora Gonzalez, of Buenos Aires. Got a card from her the other day. She comes back to town early to see something of the South American and West Indian gang before they go home for the winter. Suppose that I go around there to see if I can learn anything about our friends."
Dallas nodded.
"That is a good plan. Meanwhile, I will attend to a few matters, and we'll meet at the Traveler's for dinner."
"Right!" said Sir James. "Then I'm off."
Returning to his studio, he gave orders to his manservant to get ready to leave at a moment's notice for a hunting trip in Austria. A few hours later, he presented himself at a small private hotel upon the Avenue Henri Martin, where, on entering the salon, he was welcomed by a handsome woman of Andalusian type, who greeted him very cordially.
"It is so nice of you to come, Sir James," said she. "You are just in time. There is such a fascinating girl in the other room. She's Albanian; her father was Constantine Bey, and her home is high up in the north Albanian Alps."
"Not the Lady Thalia!" exclaimed Sir James.
"Yes," cried his hostess in surprise. "Do you know her?"
"Uh—ah—we've met. Is the Prince Emilio with her?"
"The prince is playing bridge."
"Indeed! And, speaking of the prince, Señora Gonzales, do you happen to know a Baron Rosenthal?"
"Oh, everybody in South America knows Rosenthal. Such a type! He has promised to come in later."
"What do you know about him?" asked Sir James.
"Rosenthal is a Czechian Jew who has made an enormous fortune in promoting all kinds of—er—doubtful enterprises, principally revolutions, in all parts of the world. He knows everybody, speaks every language after a fashion, and is a papal baron. Fancy, a Jew a papal baron!"
"Does that account for his being received?" asked Sir James. "I thought him an awful brute!"
His hostess threw out her hands. "But nobody could keep Rosenthal out of any place where he wanted to go!" she cried. "He is as insidious as the cholera, with the forward impetus of—of"
"Of an auto bus," suggested Sir James reflectively.
Madame Gonzales laughed. "I see that you have met him. But then," she added, "I doubt if anybody would wish to close the door to Rosenthal. He is very interesting, and would do anything for a person whom he liked. Then he is really very decent and well-behaved, and perfectly devoted to his wife."
Sir James was on the point of pursuing his inquiries when some other guests arrived, and the hostess turned from him with a smile.
He crossed the room and passed into a salon adjoining, where, sitting in an alcove and chatting with an immaculate young Frenchman, he discovered the Lady Thalia of Novibazar.