Armitage wrote: "MONSIEUR: "Your assassin is a clumsy fellow and you will do well to send him back to the blacksmith shop at Toplica. I learn that Monsieur Durand, distressed by the delay in affairs in America, will soon join you-is even now aboard the Tacoma, bound for New York. I am profoundly grateful for this, dear Monsieur, as it gives me an opportunity to conclude our interesting business in republican territory without prejudice to any of the parties chiefly concerned. "You are a clever and daring rogue, yet at times you strike me as immensely dull, Monsieur. Ponder this: should it seem expedient for me to establish my identity -which I am sure interests you greatly-before Baron von Marhof, and, we will add, the American Secretary of State, be quite sure that I shall not do so until I have taken precautions against your departure in any unseemly haste. I, myself, dear friend, am not without a certain facility in setting traps." Armitage threw down the pen and read what he had written with care. Then he wrote as signature the initials F. A., inclosed the note in an envelope and addressed it, pondered again, laughed and slapped his knee and went into his room, where he rummaged about until he found a small seal beautifully wrought in bronze and a bit of wax. Returning to the table he lighted a candle, and deftly sealed the letter. He held the red scar on the back of the envelope to the lamp and examined it with interest. The lines of the seal were deep cut, and the impression was perfectly distinct, of F. A. in English script, linked together by the bar of the F. "Oscar, what do you recommend that we do with the prisoner ?” "He should be tied to a tree and shot; or, perhaps, it would be better to hang him to the rafters in the kitchen. Yet he is heavy and might pull down the roof.” "You are a bloodthirsty wretch, and there is no mercy in you. Private executions are not allowed in this country; you would have us before a Virginia grand jury and our own necks stretched. No; we shall send him back to his master." “It is a mistake. If your Excellency would go away for an hour he should never know where the buzzards found this large carcass." "Tush! I would not trust his valuable life to you. Get up!" he commanded, and Oscar jerked Zmai to his feet. "You deserve nothing at my hands, but I need a dis creet messenger, and you shall not die to-night, as my worthy adjutant recommends. To-morrow night, however, or the following night—or any other old night, as we say in America—if you show yourself in these hills, my chief of staff shall have his way with you-buzzard meat !" "The orders are understood," said Oscar, thrusting the revolver into the giant's ribs. "Now, Zmai, blacksmith of Toplica, and assassin at large, here is a letter for Monsieur Chauvenet. It is still early. When you have delivered it, bring me back the envelope with Monsieur's receipt written right here, under the seal. Do you understand?" It had begun to dawn upon Zmai that his life was not in immediate danger, and the light of intelligence kindled again in his strange little eyes. Lest he might not fully grasp the errand with which Armitage intrusted him, Oscar repeated what Armitage had said in somewhat coarser terms. Again through the moonlight strode the three-out of Armitage's land to the valley road and to the same point to which Shirley Claiborne had only a few days before been escorted by the mountaineer. There they sent the Servian forward to the Springs, and Armitage went home, leaving Oscar to wait for the return of the receipt. It was after midnight when Oscar placed it in Armitage's hands at the bungalow. "Oscar, it would be a dreadful thing to kill a man,” Armitage declared, holding the empty envelope to the light and reading the line scrawled beneath the unbroken wax. It was in French: "You are young to die, Monsieur.” “A man more or less!" and Oscar shrugged his shoulders. "You are not a good churchman. It is a grievous sin to do murder." "One may repent; it is so written. The people of your house are Catholics also." "That is quite true, though I may seem to forget it. Our work will be done soon, please God, and we shall ask the blessed sacrament somewhere in these hills." Oscar crossed himself and fell to cleaning his rifle. CHAPTER XIX CAPTAIN CLAIBORNE ON DUTY When he came where the trees were thin, On her worn palm she laid her chin, And laughed awhile in sober glee To think how strong this knight had been. -William Vaughn Moody. In some mystification Captain Richard Claiborne packed a suit-case in his quarters at Fort Myer. Being a soldier, he obeyed orders; but being human, he was also possessed of a degree of curiosity. He did not know just the series of incidents and conferences that preceded his summons to Washington, but they may be summarized thus: Baron von Marhof was a cautious man. When the young gentlemen of his legation spoke to him in awed whispers of a cigarette case bearing an extraordinary device that had been seen in Washington he laughed them away; then, possessing a curious and thorough mind, he read all the press clippings relating to the |