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England, George Allan, 1877-1936

"The Flying Legion"

Frankly, it
does not tend to ameliorate the relation between us. You have placed
yourself--and me--in a peculiarly compromising position. I must try to
meet it.
"Obviously you cannot expect one so unskilled as I, in things
feminine, to help you in the capacity of lady's maid Therefore only
one thing remains to do. Instead of calling my orderly, and having him
show you your stateroom, I must in some way arrange to get you there,
myself."
"That's kind of you, I'm sure," she answered, half in mockery, half in
gratitude.
"There I will supply you with medical supplies. In some manner or
other you can manage to do up your hair and resume your disguise. You
will remain in your stateroom--under arrest--until such time as you
are cast loose, tomorrow, in your plane."
"Tomorrow?"
"I should say, sometime before night of the day that has already
begun. Food and drink will be brought you, of course."
"That's very good of you, sir." Her smile tantalized. The curt
laconicism of her manner, in the masculine role, had changed to the
softer ways of womankind. Despite himself, the Master was constrained
to admire her ability as an actress.
"Of course you realize," she continued, "that to cast me loose in a
plane, with only one serviceable arm, will be equivalent to committing
cold-blooded murder.


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