The last piece was Scheherazade. ‘Now what?’ The girl’s voice was shaking, and there were, he saw now, angry tears in her eyes. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. Niente. Jonathan looked in that direction, and beheld the fugitives riding off in triumph. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something. This time she tried to kill me with a dagger. Don’t be frightened, dear. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand.
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