None of the combatants
approached them. Indeed, the struggle ceased as quickly as it began,
and they were in the hotel before the frightened servants dared make
known the thrilling fact that the young lady was missing. The negro who
accompanied her down-stairs was positive that she had gone off of her
own accord in the carriage that was standing outside, but Mr.
Fenshawe's frantic protestations when the scared manager told him what
had happened convinced Royson that the servant's statement was wildly
absurd. Moreover, it became clearer each second that Mrs. Haxton, and
not Irene, was the prize sought by the marauders. Royson, though in a
white heat of helpless rage, soon became alive to this element in an
otherwise inexplicable outrage, and endeavored to soothe Mr. Fenshawe's
wild-eyed alarm by telling him the girl would surely be sent back as
soon as the error was discovered.
There was no time for explanations. All was panic and useless running
to and fro. A messenger was sent to summon the police, and matters were
in a state of chaos when Royson was approached by an Arab whose
clearly-chiseled features, arched eyebrows and high cheek-bones showed
that he was of different lineage to the hybrids of the coast.
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