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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"


Harry and I looked at each other, kneeling like two heathen
idols, and burst into unrestrained laughter. But with it was
mixed a portion of anger, and I turned to Desiree.
"In the name of Heaven, was that necessary?"
"You do it very prettily," said she, with a smile.
"That is well, but I don't care to repeat it. Harry, for the
sake of my dignity, employ a little discretion. And what do you
suppose the beggar will do about it?"
"Nothing," said Desiree, shrugging her shoulders. "Only he must
be pacified. I must go. I wonder if you know you are lodged in
the royal apartments? His majesty's room--he has but one--is in
the corridor to the left of this.
"Mine is on the right--and he is probably stamping the place to
pieces at this moment." She left the granite couch and advanced
half way to the door. "Au revoir, messieurs. Till later--I shall
come to see you."
The next moment she was gone.
Harry and I, left alone, had enough to think and talk about, but
there was ten minutes of silence before we spoke. I sat on one of
the stone seats, wondering what the result would be--if any--of
the king's visit and his discovery.


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