r a moment, there came
clearly through the stillness, the excited, guttural command of the
German ambassador.

"Keep on blaying, you tam fools! Keep on blaying!"

The orchestra started again tremulously. Mr. Grimm nodded a silent
approval of the ambassador's command, then turned away toward his left,
in the direction of the shot. After the first dismay, there was a
general movement of the crowd in that direction, a movement which was
checked by Mr. Campbell's appearance upon a chair, with a smile on his
bland face.

"No harm done," he called. "One of the officers present dropped his
revolver, and it was accidently discharged. No harm done."

There was a moment's excited chatter, deep-drawn breaths of relief, the
orchestra swung again into the interrupted rhythm, and the dancers moved
on. Mr. Grimm went straight to his chief, who had stepped down from the
chair. Two other Secret Service men stood behind him, blocking the
doorway that opened into a narrow hall.

"This way," directed the chief tersely.

Mr. Grimm walked along beside him. They skirted the end of the ball-room
until they came to another door opening into the hall. Chief Campbell
pushed it open, and entered. One of his men stood just inside.

"What was it, Gray?" asked the chief.

"Senor Alvarez, of the Mexican legation, was shot," was the reply.

"Dead?"

"Only wounded. He's in that room," and he indicated a door a little way
down the hall. "Fairchild, two servants, and a physician are with him."

"Who shot him?"

"Don't know. We found him lying in the hall here."

Still followed by Mr. Grimm, the chief entered the room, and together
they bent over the wounded man. The bullet had entered the torso just
below the ribs on the left side.

"It's a clean wound," the physician was explaining. "The bullet passed
through. There's no immediate danger."

Senor Alvarez opened his eyes, and stared about him in bewilderment;
then alarm overspread his face, and he made spasmodic efforts to reach
the inside breast pocket of his coat. Mr. Grimm obligingly thrust his
hand into the pocket and drew out its contents, the while Senor Alvarez
struggled frantically.

"Just a moment," Mr. Grimm advised quietly. "I'm only going to let you
see if it is here. Is it?"

He held the papers, one by one, in front of the wounded man, and each
time a shake of the head was his answer. At the last Senor Alvarez
closed his eyes again.

"What sort of paper was it?" inquir