Will you excuse me
a minute--or will you come along and meet him?"
"I'll wait," said Philip.
Ten seconds later, the woman's white-haired escort was on his feet. He
came to Philip's table, and seated himself casually in Barrow's chair, as
though Philip were an old friend with whom he had come to chat for a
moment.
"I beg your pardon for the imposition which I am laying upon you," he
said in a low, quiet voice. "I am Colonel McCloud. The lady with me is my
daughter. And you, I believe, are a gentleman. If I were not sure of
that, I should not have taken advantage of your friend's temporary
absence. You heard my daughter cry out a few moments ago? You observed
that she was--disturbed?"
Philip nodded.
"I could not help it. I was facing her. And since then I have thought
that I--unconsciously--was the cause of her perturbation. I am Philip
Curtis, Colonel McCloud, from Fort MacPherson, two thousand miles north
of here, on the Mackenzie Kiver. So you see, if it is a case of mistaken
identity--"
"No--no--it is not that," interrupted the older man. "As we were passing
your table we--my daughter--heard you speak a name. Perhaps she was
mistaken. It was--Peter God."
"Yes. I know Peter God. He is a friend of mine."
Barrow was returning. The other saw him over Philip's shoulder, and his
voice trembled with a sudden and subdued excitement as he said quickly:
"Your friend is coming' back.
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