A slim girl, richly dressed, with a sable wrap about her shoulders and a pretty little hat, was threading her way among the crowding chairs and tables and the talkative groups in the lounge. He glanced up: then looked closely. It was Dixie Carmichael. She stood before him, wearing her icy, faintly mocking smile. He rose.
He could only incline his head with a sort of courtesy, and contrive an artificial smile. He seemed to have been dreaming, outrageously. Life had begun now'.
“I'm running down to Singapore,” said she. “Friends there. And a look-see?”
“Oh,” he murmured, “indeed.” She looked out-and-out rich; and she was surprisingly pretty, without a sign that she had ever known danger or even care.
“So?.... Well, that'll be pleasant.” With a final glance of what seemed almost like triumph she sailed away. And he knew that in taking the pearls he had not taken all from her. Apparently, too, she meant him to know it. That would be her moment of triumph. And that was all; not a word was spoken regarding his violence or her threats.... He saw the yellow porters carrying out her luggage of bright new leather.
He resumed his seat; twitched for a time with increasing nervousness; got up and went aimlessly over to the desk; asked the Malay clerk for mail.
A smiling little Japanese appeared, rather officious about a great lot of bags and a trunk or two that were coming in. He had a familiar look; even raised his hat and stepped forward with outstretched hand. It was Kato.... And then Dawley Kane came in--tall, quiet, neatly dressed, his nearly white mustache newly cropped.
To his pale son Dawley Kane said merely--“Well!”--as he took his hand; and then was busy registering. That done, he asked: “Had dinner?” Rocky shook his head. “I don't care for any.” Daw ley Kane's quietly keen eyes surveyed his son. “What's the matter? Not well.”
“Sit down with me, can't you?” And turning to the attending Japanese he said: “You'll excuse me Kato. I'll be dining with my son. And tell Mr. Braker, please.... Just a minute Rocky, till I wash my hands.”
They were shown to a table in the great diningroom, where the cackling was louder than in the lounge (they dine late on the coast)--where blue-gowned waiters moved softly about as if there had never been a revolution and wine glasses glistened and prettily bared shoulders gleamed roundly under the electric lights.