The Flying Legion by George Allan England
page 146 of 477 (30%)
page 146 of 477 (30%)
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"Major," said the Master, "pardon me, but I wish to speak to
our--guest, alone. You understand." The major's glance conveyed a world of indignant protest, but he obeyed in silence. When he had withdrawn into the smoke-room, where a brooding pipe would ill divert his mind from various wild speculations, the Master slid open his own cabin door, and extended a hand of welcome toward it. "_Après vous, monsieur!_" said he. The A.C.B. officer entered, his vigorous, compact figure alive with energy, intelligence. The Master followed, slid the door shut and motioned to a chair beside the desk. This chair, of metal, was itself placed upon a metal plate. The plate was new. At our last sight of the cabin, it had not been there. Taking off goggles and gauntlets, and throwing open his sheepskin jacket, the Frenchman sat down. The Master also plate was new. At our last sight of the cabin, it had not been there. Taking off goggles and gauntlets, and throwing open his sheepskin jacket, the Frenchman sat down. The Master also sat down at the desk. A brief silence, more pregnant than any speech, followed. Each man narrowly appraised the other. Then said the newcomer, still in that admirable French of his: "You understand, of course, _n'est-ce pas?_ that it is useless to offer any resistance to the authority of the A.C.B." |
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