abinet dismissed ages ago? It is now too late. And where is
Prince Frederick to the rescue? There is something going on, and what it
is only the archbishop knows. That smile of his! How will it end? I'd
like to see von Mitter, who seems to be a good gossip. And that poor,
friendless, paralytic king! I say, but it makes the blood grow warm."

He left the chair and paced the office confines. Only one thing went
echoing through his brain, and that was he could do nothing. The sooner
he settled down in the attitude of a spectator the better for him.
Besides, he was an official in the employ of a foreign country, and
it would be the height of indiscretion to meddle, even in a private
capacity. It would be to jeopardize his diplomatic career, and that
would be ridiculous.

A porter touched him on the shoulder.

"A letter for your Excellency."

It was from the American minister in Vienna.

"My dear Carewe: I have a service to ask of you. The British minister is
worried over the disappearance of a fellow-countryman, Lord Fitzgerald.
He set out for Bleiberg, leaving instructions to look him up if nothing
was heard of him within a week. Two weeks have gone. Knowing you to
be in Bleiberg, I believed you might take the trouble to look into the
affair. The British ambassador hints at strange things, as if he feared
foul play. I shall have urgent need of you by the first of October; our
charge d'affaires is to return home on account of ill-health, and your
appointment to that office is a matter of a few days."

Maurice whistled. "That is good news; not Haine's illness, but that I
have an excuse to meddle here. I'll telegraph at once. And I'll take
the ride besides." He went to his room and buckled on his spurs, and
thoughtfully slipped his revolver into a pocket. "I am not going to take
any chances, even in the dark." Once again in the office, he stepped
up to the desk and ordered his horse to be brought around to the cafe
entrance.

"Certainly," said the clerk. Then in low tones "There has been a curious
exchange in saddles, Monsieur."

"Saddles?"

"Yes. The saddle in your stall is, curiously enough, stamped with the
arms of the house of Auersperg. How that military saddle came into the
stables is more than the grooms can solve."

"O," said Maurice, with an assumption of carelessness; "that is all
right. It's the saddle I arrived on. The horse and saddle belong to
Madame the duchess. I have been visiting at the Red Chate