e authority, or attempted to run away?" he inquired
with flashing eyes.

The policeman had nothing to say to this very just question.

"Then I advise you to consider what you are doing. In spite of my
appearance, which, I admit, is at present somewhat disorderly, I am a
Russian nobleman, as you will discover so soon as I am submitted to a
properly conducted examination in the presence of your officers. I have
not the least intention of running away, and if this doll was stolen, I
was not connected in any way with the theft. Since I respect the
authorities, I insist upon being respected by them, and if I am treated in
a degrading manner in spite of my protests, there are those in Munich who
will bring the case to proper notice in my own country. I am ready to
accompany you quietly wherever you choose to show me the way."

Something in his manner impressed the officials with the possible truth of
his words. They looked at each other and nodded.

"Very well," said the one who was conducting the arrest.

"Moreover," said the Count, "I crave permission to carry myself the object
of contention, until the other claimant has established his right of
possession."

So saying the Count took the broken Gigerl from the table where it lay,
and carrying it upon his hands before him, like a baby, he solemnly walked
in the direction of the door, thus heading the procession, which was
accompanied into the street by the idlers who had collected inside.

"God be thanked," said the old woman in the corner devoutly, "I have yet
my beer!"

"And to think that only one of them has paid for his supper," moaned the
pale-faced innkeeper, sitting down upon a chair and contemplating the
wreck of his belongings with a haggard eye. The "Gigerl-night" was
remembered for many a long year in the "Green Wreath Inn."

At the police station the arresting party told their own story in their
own way, very much to the disadvantage of the Russians and very much in
favour of the porters and of the officials themselves. The latter, indeed,
enlarged so much upon the atrocities perpetrated by Dumnoff as to weary
the superior officer. The Cossack having escaped, the policemen did not
mention him. The officer glanced at Dumnoff.

"Your name?" he inquired.

"Victor Ivanowitch Dumnoff."

"Occupation?"

"Cigarette-maker in the manufactory of Christian Fischelowitz."

"Lock him up," said the officer. "Resisting the police in the execution of
an arrest,"