. His hands shook, his eyes burned. The
two Terrorists watched him narrowly.

Brandy or no brandy, however, he had not lost his wits. He glanced up
suddenly. "Tell me something about this," he said. "And what will you do
for me if I decode it?"

The concierge would promise anything, and did. Haeckel listened, and
knew the offer of liberty was a lie. But there was something about the
story of the letter itself that bore the hall-marks of truth.

"You see," finished Black Humbert cunningly, "she--this--lady of the
Court--is plotting with some one, or so we suspect. If it is only a
liaison--!" He spread his hands. "If, as is possible, she betrays us to
Karnia, that we should find out. It is not," he added, "among our plans
that Karnia should know too much of us."

"Who is it?"

"I cannot betray a lady," said Black Humbert, and leered.

The brandy was still working, but the spy's mind was clear. He asked for
a pencil, and set to work. After all, if there was a spy of Karl's in
the Palace, it were well to know it. He tried complicated methods first,
to find that the body of the letter, after all, was simple enough. By
reading every tenth word, he got a consistent message, save that certain
supplies, over which the concierge had railed, were special code words
for certain regiments. These he could not decipher.

"Whoever was to receive this," he said at last, "would have been in
possession of complete data of the army, equipment and all, and the
location of various regiments. Probably you and your band of murderers
have that already."

The concierge nodded, no whit ruffled. "And for whom was it intended?"

"I cannot say. The address is fictitious, of course."

Black Humbert scowled. "So!" he said. "You tell us only a part!"

"There is nothing else to tell. Save, as I have written here, the writer
ends: 'I must see you at once. Let me know where.'"

The brandy was getting in its work well by that time. He was feeling
strong, his own man again, and reckless. But he was cunning, too. He
yawned. "And in return for all this, what?" he demanded. "I have done
you a service, friend cut-throat."

The concierge stuffed letter and translation into his pocket. "What
would you have, short of liberty?"

"Air, for one thing." He stood up and stretched again. God, how strong
he felt! "If you would open that accursed window for an hour--the place
reeks."

Humbert was in high good humor in spite of his protests. In his pocket