Pray for a Brave Heart Read Online Free PDF

business-men, curious tourists, nervous honeymooners, than jewel thieves and crooks. This hotel was hardly promising territory for Maartens. Or perhaps that was what he wanted at the moment—an unobtrusive place to hang his pearl-grey suit until this evening. But why—if it was complete anonymity he wanted—why use his name so openly? That of course, could be part of his present stage setting: the innocent visitor with a few days to spend in Bern. Denning, too, was concealing nothing about himself, beyond the fact that Max Meyer had enlisted his sympathies and brought him into the game. And yet—and yet—Denning wasn’t in this game, the way Charlie-for-Short was involved. Charlie-for-Short… Not a particularly happynickname. Charles-the-Bold would have been better. Perhaps, he thought as he half-opened the long narrow windows and looked down into the street over two green window-boxes with red geraniums, perhaps Max is slipping a little. Once, when Max labelled anyone, the name stuck just because its aptness had a glue that didn’t flake off.
    There was a good deal of bustle, now, down in the street. Low gears, sudden brakings of cars; footsteps echoing because of the arcades; a trolley with its high-powered purr; a mixture of creaks and screeches and voices and hard heels mingled together and rose to his window in an ebb and flow as constant as the rhythm of a restless sea. Remember that image, he told himself, and perhaps you’ll get some sleep tonight. Then he shivered. Chilly out there, even if it was the end of May. He shut the windows, ending the cold draught, and brought some peace back into the room.
    He picked up his shaving kit from his bag and went into the bathroom. The outsize bath on its elaborate dais was nicely full of water turned cold. He cursed all over-helpful women, and let the bath run out. Majestically slow, he noted. He’d have plenty of time to shave. But then he heard his bedroom door being opened, and Gustav’s voice was saying, “Breakfast, Herr Denning.” So it would be a choice of either hot bath or hot coffee. He took the bath cold, shallow, and quick. This is one hell of a way to begin a vacation, he thought savagely. And when there was a knock at his door, he wasn’t surprised to see it open before he even could swallow a mouthful of roll and clear his throat to yell, “Stay out!”
    The man who entered probably wouldn’t have stayed out in any case. He went straight to the window, carrying two potsof geraniums and a gardening trowel, and wearing an air of dedication.
    “Look here,” said Denning, “whatever you are about to do, don’t! Just leave me in peace with my second cup of coffee. What’s the idea anyway?” He drew the bath towel closely around him as the man opened the windows wide. I like fresh air, Denning thought, but this isn’t air, it’s a howling tornado.
    “The geraniums,” the man said, a solid-looking type who would make sure of enjoying his own breakfast.
    “What about them?”
    The man examined the window-boxes with an expert eye. He shook his head sadly and muttered to himself in disapproval.
    “Couldn’t you do them later in the day?” Then Denning looked at the bed where he had thought he might catch up on some sleep. Later in the day might not be such a good idea, after all.
    “Excuse me, sir,” said the man, paying no attention to him as he neatly trowelled the offending plants out of the box and replaced them with the geraniums he had brought. He was a good workman, Denning had to admit, neat and quick; but he had a tuneless way of quietly whistling between his teeth. Denning, drinking his coffee with more determination now than enjoyment, wondered what the man was whistling—just the same eight bars or so, over and over and over again. His musical range was limited. The whistling stopped suddenly, so suddenly that Denning found himself mentally completing the last bars. “Yankee Doodle Dandy”, that was all it had been. Another