"I'm not the Duke of Perth," I said, "but, but, Juanita--?"
There came a little knocking at the door.
Juanita swirled round, flung up her arm--I saw her sweet face glowing
for an instant--and then she seemed to whirl away like an autumn leaf.
The only thing I could possibly do was to light a cigarette.
Juanita, having met me, having delivered her ultimatum, having turned me
into a jelly, flitted away quite oblivious of the fact that I was a
burglar, an intruder into what was probably the most guarded and secret
place in Europe at that moment.
My heart sang high music, and that was well. But at the same time I
recognized that I was in the deuce of a mess and had planned out no
course of action at all.