As he was leaving, a square of light attracted his attention. He looked up
to see the outline of the bearded Russ in the window. Poor devil! He was
going to have a merry time of it. Well, that was his affair. Besides,
Russians, half the year chilled by their bitter snows, were susceptible to
volcanoes; they courted them as a counterbalance. Perhaps he had spoken
roughly, but his temper had not been under control. One thing he recalled
with grim satisfaction. He had sent a barbed arrow up the tube to disturb
the felicity of the dove-cote. The duke would be rather curious to know
what was meant in referring to the night she had come to his,
Courtlandt's, room. He laughed. It would be a fitting climax indeed if the
duke called him out.
But what of the pretty woman in the Taverne Royale? What about her? At
whose bidding had she followed him? One or the other of them had not told
the truth, and he was inclined to believe that the prevarication had its
source in the pomegranate lips of the Calabrian. To give the old barb one
more twist, to learn if its venomous point still held and hurt; nothing
would have afforded the diva more delight. Courtlandt glared at the window
as the shade rolled down.
When the taxicab joined the long line of carriages and automobiles
opposite the Austrian ambassador's, Courtlandt awoke to the dismal and
disquieting fact that he had formulated no plan of action. He had done no
more than to give the driver his directions; and now that he had arrived,
he had the choice of two alternatives. He could wait to see her come out
or return at once to his hotel, which, as subsequent events affirmed,
would have been the more sensible course. He would have been confronted
with small difficulty in gaining admission to the house. He knew enough of
these general receptions; the announcing of his name would have conveyed
nothing to the host, who knew perhaps a third of his guests, and many of
these but slightly. But such an adventure was distasteful to Courtlandt.
He could not overstep certain recognized boundaries of convention, and to
enter a man's house unasked was colossal impudence. Beyond this, he
realized that he could have accomplished nothing; the advantage would have
been hers. Nor could he meet her as she came out, for again the odds would
have been largely in her favor. No, the encounter must be when they two
were alone. She must be surprised. She must have no time to use her ready
wit. He had thought to wait until some reasonable plan offered itself for
trial; yet, here he was, with nothing definite or recognizable but the
fact that the craving to see her was not to be withstood. The blood began
to thunder in his ears. An idea presented itself. It appealed to him at
that moment as quite clever and feasible.