s the train commenced to move again three men
entered the compartment; two appeared to be servants, but the third
was a young man of distinguished appearance, the most conspicuous
items of whose attire were a dark Homburg hat and a long cape of
Continental cut.

Mr. Jones's heart missed a beat.

Throwing a searching glance around the compartment the stranger rapped
out, "There has been a lady in here?"

"No," replied Mr. Jones, on general principles.

For answer the stranger picked a cambric handkerchief off the floor.

"That's mine," said Mr. Jones hastily.

"Perhaps," was the sneering reply, "you will tell me also that the
child is yours."

"Certainly," said Mr. Jones, ruffled by his cross-examination; "it
always has been."

The stranger snorted contemptuously. "You are good at explanations.
Perhaps you can explain this."

Mr. Jones looked down at the baby's coat. To his amazement he beheld a
crown and monogram embroidered on it.

"That," he replied, taking refuge in fatuity, "is the laundry mark."

"Come, come, enough of this fooling. Give me the child."

Mr. Jones took no notice.

"Give me the child, I say."

Mr. Jones paled but did not move.

"Very good, then." The stranger turned to his attendants. "Rupert,
Rudolph," he said.

Two revolver barrels flashed out.

Mr. Jones stood up hastily, the child clutched tightly in his arms.
"What do you mean by threatening me like this? What right have you to
the child? I never heard of such a thing; I shall inform the police."

"Porkhound," yelled the stranger, "do you defy me? me, Count Achtung
von Eisenbahn? Give me the babe. I must have him. I will have him. He
is ours--our Prince Fritz, the last of the Hohenzollerns."

The great moment had come. Jones's face lit up. Death--a hero's
death--might claim him, but he would make democracy safe for the
world.

"Last of the Hohenzollerns!" he shouted; "then, by Jove, this is going
to be the last of _him_." And with a yell of triumph he hurled the
infant out into the night.

From the child in its trajectory came a long ear-splitting shriek,
followed by a gentle wailing.

Mr. Jones sat up and blinked his eyes. The professorial gentleman was
still in the far corner; the lady was still opposite him; the child
was wailing softly.

The lady smiled. "I'm afraid baby has broken your nap. A passing
express frightened him."

"Not at all," murmured Mr. Jones incoherently, searching for his
novel, the one so