"Nothing else I know of
would explain it."
"Do two Americans, a half-breed beggar, and a local coachman get
sunstruck at one and the same time?" she inquired disdainfully.
"Doesn't seem likely. By your account, though, the crippled beggar
seems to have been the little Charlie Ross of melodrama."
"Then why didn't he shout for help? I listened, but didn't hear a
sound from him."
"Movie-picture rehearsal," grunted Mr. Brewster. "I can't quite
see the heir of all the Virginias in the part. Isn't he coming
down to dinner this evening?"
"His dinner was sent up to his room. Isn't it extraordinary?"
"Ask Sherwen about it. He's coming around this evening for coffee
in our rooms."
But the American representative had something else on his mind
besides casual kidnapings.
"I've just come from a talk with the British Minister," he
remarked, setting down his cup. "He's officially in charge of
American interests, you know."
"Thought you were," said Mr. Brewster.
"Officially, I have no existence. The United States of America is
wiped off the map, so far as the sovereign Republic of Caracuna is
concerned.
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