end of five minutes there was
another shriek. Paul turned quickly to the inspector. Ah, then, there
was another train? No; it was only the up express for Basle, going the
other way and stopping at the Nord Station, half a mile away. It would
not stop here, but the Herr would see it pass in a few moments at full
speed.

It came presently, with a prolonged despairing shriek, out of the
darkness; a flash, a rush and roar at his side, a plunge into the
darkness again with the same despairing cry; a flutter of something
white from one of the windows, like a loosened curtain, that at last
seemed to detach itself, and, after a wild attempt to follow, suddenly
soared aloft, whirled over and over, dropped, and drifted slowly,
slantwise, to the ground.

The inspector had seen it, ran down the line, and picked it up. Then he
returned with it to Paul with a look of sympathizing concern. It was a
lady's handkerchief, evidently some signal waved to the well-born Herr,
who was the only passenger on the platform. So, possibly, it might be
from his friends, who by some stupid mischance had gone to the wrong
station, and--Gott im Himmel!--it was hideously stupid, yet possible,
got on the wrong train!

The Herr, a little pale, but composed, thought it WAS possible. No; he
would not telegraph to the next station--not yet--he would inquire.

He walked quickly away, reaching the hotel breathlessly, yet in a space
that seemed all too brief for his disconnected thought. There were
signs of animation in the hall, and an empty carriage was just
reentering the courtyard. The hall-porter met him with demonstrative
concern and apology. Ah! if he had only understood his Excellency
better, he could have saved him all this trouble. Evidently his
Excellency was going with the Arguello party, who had ordered a
carriage, doubtless, for the same important journey, an hour before,
yet had left only a few moments after his Excellency, and his
Excellency, it would appear, had gone to the wrong station.

Paul pushed hurriedly past the man and ascended to his room. Both
windows were open, and in the faint moonlight he could see that
something white was pinned to his pillow. With nervous fingers he
relit his candles, and found it was a note in Yerba's handwriting. As
he opened it, a tiny spray of the vine that had grown on the crumbling
wall fell at his feet. He picked it up, pressed it to his lips, and
read, with dim eyes, as follows:--

"Y