“I am sorry, very sorry,” he said in a low voice, “to have offended your friend a second time, but I assure you it was out of my power to answer his question.”
“Which should not have been asked,” I replied. “The fault is his. He is over sensitive. In a moment he will have forgotten—say no more.”
“Not upon that subject since you wish it; but I must speak with you upon another while opportunity offers. That little hand bag of mine—you recollect. Have you it with you here at Angkor?”
“Unfortunately no;” I took it in charge that night, but it was left behind us at Panompin. Of course I never dreamed—?”
“Of meeting me—certainly not. Why should you? I was engaged in a peculiar mission at Panompin and was particularly anxious not to—that is to say not to leave hurriedly. But tell me—and you must think me very rude for not inquiring sooner—how did you manage to escape?”
“Now it is you who are asking questions. If I answer, I must take the liberty of asserting my Yankee prerogative of asking you the same question in return.”
He smiled strangely—you can scarcely fancy what a singular sensation it is to see a man smile only with his eyes.
“I am dumb,” he said, “but one question I must ask—were you harmed?”
“Not in the least.”
“Good! I am thankful for it. I have many times thought of you—but to return to the bag.”
“It’s at your disposal,” I interposed. “If you are going to Panompin—”
“But I am not. It is doubtful if I ever visit the place again. When you return will you oblige me by addressing a label to Mr. Radma Gungeet, at Benares, and forwarding the bag by express?”
“Certainly. It shall be done if you wish it.”
“One question more. Do not be offended. Did you open the bag, thinking you would never see me again?”
“The bag has remained precisely as you left it, sir,” I replied with dignity.
He gave a slight sigh of relief and turned away just in time to meet Maurice coming toward us from the balustrade.
“Come, George, let’s go down,” he said abruptly. “Mr. Mirrikh, I bid you good day.”
