But the princess
has been found. The best thing you can do is to put your passports into
immediate use and return to the States. You can do no good here."
"Maybe." Grumbach refilled his pipe, lighted it, and without saying more
went out and down into the street.
Carmichael watched him through the window. Cloud after cloud of smoke
ran wavering behind the exile. He was smoking like one deeply perturbed.
"He's a queer codger, and it's a queer story. I don't believe I have
heard it all, either. What was he really hunting for with those glasses?
I give it up."
He was not angry with Grumbach; rather he seemed to be drawn to him more
closely than ever. Mad with love. That was the phrase. He conned it over
and over; mad with love. That excused many things. How strangely the
chess-men were moved! Had Grumbach not assisted in the abduction, her
highness would in all probability have grown up as other princesses,
artificial, cold, reserved, seldom touched by the fires of animated
thought or action. In fact, had things been otherwise, he never would
have ridden with her highness in the freshness of the morning--or fallen
in love with her. By rights he ought to curse Grumbach; but for him he
would still be captain of his heart. Mad with love! There was no doubt
of it.
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