The Russ Incognito
though to himself; "I was sure of it; 'twas in the air, and I smelled it!"
"What, may I ask, monsieur?"
"Trouble," said the Irishman sententiously.
The Russian chuckled more grimly than before. He tossed his cigarette out into the street ere replying.
"Am I, then, a bird of ill-omen?"
"Ye are a diplomatist," returned O'Rourke cautiously.
The prince laughed again. He leaned forward, selecting another cigarette from a jeweled case. "And if so?" he asked guardedly. "And if, mon ami, it does mean—war?" He raised a cautioning finger. "Remember," he warned O'Rourke, "I speak in confidence."
"Surely, monsieur." The Irishman met his gaze directly until the other was fain to veil his eyes with their heavy lids.
"And if," he repeated softly, "it does mean—shall we call it a diplomatic crisis, monsieur?"
"Ye may, for all of me," permitted O'Rourke graciously. If he had any great respect for this man personally, he was not then showing it.
"Well," continued the Russian impatiently, "if this is so, what do you think?"
"Eh-yah!" yawned the Irishman. "I'm thinking that it all depends upon the outcome, what me opinion is to be. And now tell me, since ye are inclined to be so confidential, what is it all about?"
The prince bent his head to light his cigarette; the flame flared brightly, Outlining his finely carven features; in particular, O'Rourke' was impressed by the heavy brows of the man—a straight, black mark without break from temple to temple, giving to his face a somewhat sinister expression.
"Suppose," said the prince, glancing swiftly around to
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