What's the
matter with my legs, Carl?"
"Too ornamental," said Carl. "Curvilinear grace is all very well but--"
"Shut up!" said Sherrill viciously. "Have you ever met this king-pin
I'm exploiting?"
"I've seen him," said Car. "Once when he was riding up the mountain
road to Houdania with a brilliant escort and one--er--other time.
Think I told you I'd spent a month or so in a Houdanian monastery
several years ago, didn't I, Dick?"
"Yes," said Dick. "That's why I asked. Poynter, who in blue blazes
are you looking for?"
Philip flushed.
"Dry up!" he advised. "You're grouchy."
Sherrill was still heatedly denying the charge when they halted near
the Baron.
"You wear a singular costume," suggested Ronador stiffly, when the
formalities of presentation were at an end. He glanced at the luminous
turban and thence to the chains. Carl, though he had primarily
intended the singular rig for the eyes of Tregar, had subtly invited
the remark. His eyes were darkly ironic.
"Prince," he said guilelessly, "it is a silent parable."
"Yes?"
"I am 'The Ghost of a Man's Past!'" explained the Palmer lightly--and
clanked his chains. The level glances of the two met with the keenness
of invisible swords.
"The heavy, sinister black," suggested the Palmer, "the flashes of
forbidden scarlet--the hours of a man's past are scarlet, are they
not?--the cloud above the head, with a treacherous heart of fire, the
clanking chains of bondage--they are all here.
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