The Waylaid Count (8)

 8

That afternoon my father went with Feliste Ritzavoy to a firm of solicitors and to a stockbroker on Majriti’s surface in order to carry out the official details for purchasing the cruiseshuttle. When he returned, he found that Miss Surcer’s chair in the reception office was occupied by a stately and imperious girl, dressed becomingly in black—me.

“Heavens, Vixie!” he cried, coming to the office window. “What are you doing here?”

“I am taking Miss Surcer’s place. I want to help you with your cruiseshuttle, Pops. I fancy I shall make an excellent cruiseshuttle clerk. I have arranged with a Miss Berdelia Welthopper, one of the typists in the office, to teach me all the tips and tricks. Don’t worry. I shall do very well.”

“But look here, Elevixie Raskelis. We shall have the whole of Majriti talking about this thing—the greatest of all Hraindorali heiresses a cruiseshuttle clerk! And I came here for quiet and rest!”

“I suppose it was for the sake of quiet and rest that you bought the cruiseshuttle, Pops?” I tossed back.

“You would insist on the steak,” he retorted. “Get out of this office instantly.”

“Here I am; here I stay,” I replied and deliberately laughed at my father. He frowned at me, but then his shoulders slumped, and I knew I had won. He left the window and came into the office. 

 “How much money should you think Julbo has contrived to amass while he has been here these twenty years past?”

“Oh!” I smiled. “I should not like to guess. I’m sure he has had plenty of unique opportunities.”

“Would you consider twenty ten-thousand-notes an extraordinary sum under his circumstances?”

“I’m not sure, but I could check the records. Has he been confiding in you?”

“Somewhat. I have dismissed him.”

“You have dismissed him?”

“Why not?”

“There is no reason why not. But Mr. Ritzavoy told me he has wanted to dismiss him for the past ten years and never found courage to do it.”

“It was a perfectly simple proceeding, I assure you. Before I had done with him, I rather liked the fellow.”

“Miss Surcer and Julbo—both gone in one day!” I mused.

“At least one of the places is filled,” my father replied sullenly. I could not stop myself from beaming.

Just then a fair-haired man of about thirty years old appeared at the office window. He was very well-dressed, very aristocratic in his pose, and his green eyes seemed rather angry.

He looked fixedly at me and started backward.

“Ach!” he exclaimed. “You!”

“Yes, it is indeed I. Father, this is General Ribereus of South Quaros—one of our most esteemed customers.”

“You know my name, ma’am?” the ne-comer murmured.

“Certainly, General,” I replied sweetly. “You were plain Colonel Staanbick last spring in Aux Thorksworth—doubtlessly travelling incognito—”

“Silence,” he entreated, leaning through the window with a wave of his hand. His forehead went as white as paper.

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