the man," I heard my jailer declare.

"Bah! I know there is no mistake," roared a voice which was accustomed
to command. "He's been trying to hoodwink you. Watch the surprise in
his face when he sees me, the cursed meddler and scribbler. It would
be a pleasure to witness his hanging. Come, show him to me."

"Yes; come along, my dear old warhorse," I murmured, turning my face
toward the wall. "There is a nice little surprise party in here
waiting for you."

The door opened.

"Unlocked!" bawled the Count. "What does this mean, Baron?"

"He gave his word as a gentleman," was the quiet reply.

"Gentleman? Ach! I'll take a look at the gentleman," said the Count,
stepping up to the pallet and shaking me roughly by the shoulder.
"Wake up!"

I sat up so as not to miss the comedy which was about to set its scenes
upon the grim visage of the Count. As his eyes met mine his jaw fell.

"A thousand devils! Who are you?"

"I couldn't swear," said I, meekly. "Everybody hereabouts insists that
I am some one else. The situation warrants a complete explanation.
Perhaps you can give it?" I should have laughed but for those flashing
eyes.

"You are a blockhead," he said to his subaltern.

"He is the man, according to your London correspondent," responded the
other with some show of temper. "I cannot see that the fault lies at
my door. You told me that he would enter the country under an assumed
name."

"I presume the affair is ended so far as I am concerned," I said,
shaking the lameness from my legs.

"Of course, of course!" replied the Count, pulling at his gray
mustaches, which flared out on either side like the whiskers of a cat.

"I should like to return to the city at once," I added.

"Certainly. I regret that you have been the victim of a blunder for
which some one shall suffer. Your compatriot has caused me a deal of
trouble."

"I assure you that he is in no wise connected with the present matter.
According to his latest advices he is at Vienna."

"I should be most happy to believe that," was the Count's rejoinder,
which inferred that he didn't believe it.

"My friend seems to be a dangerous person?"

"All men of brains, coupled with impudence, are dangerous; and I give
your friend credit for being as brave as he is impudent. But come, my
carriage is at your service. You are a journalist, but you will
promise not to make public this unfortunate mistake."

I acquiesced.

When the Coun