"That fool, Anstruther, is bewitched by her
Polish wiles, the mongrel inheritance of La Grande Armee's visit
to Russia!" Straight as the crow flies, Alan Hawke then pressed on
to Lemberg, and hastened to Berlin, having sent on his last official
report to Captain Anstruther, at London. In Berlin, a letter from
Jack Blunt decided his whole career. There was news of moment,
which set his hot blood boiling in his veins.
"Simpson, the old body servant, has arrived from India," wrote the
disguised ex-convict. "And he's mighty thick with your shy bird, too.
There is some strange game going on here, which I can't make out.
The cute Yankee professor is furious, for old Fraser has temporarily
given him the 'dead cut.' The American is totally neglected, for the
old idiot spends half his time, now, shut up in his study with a
visiting nigger prince from India, and the yellow fellow's half-breed
interpreter. I send you a dozen cuttings from the papers. The
Prince, however, seems to be all O. K. He never even notices the
shy bird. He probably buys his women at home. How could he, for
he does not speak a single damned word of English. But I've caught
sight of this Moonshee fellow trying to do the polite to the heiress.
Old Simpson keenly watches the whole goings on, and I've tried to
pull him on! No go! But he sneaks off himself, gets roaring full,
down at Rozel Pier, with a little French peddler fellow, that he
has picked up.
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