a stupid thing
now, and he knew it. He should have taken his letter and gone back with
it. But, fool or not, he was a soldier. Danger made him calm.

So he kept his eyes open. The shooting-box was a simple one, built,
after the fashion of the mountains, of logs, and wood-lined. The walls
of the hall were hung with skins and the mounted heads of animals, boar
and deer, and even an American mountain sheep, testifying to the range
of its royal owner's activities as a hunter. Great pelts lay on the
floor, and the candelabra were horns cunningly arranged to hold candles.
The hall extended to the roof, and a gallery half-way up showed the
doors of the sleeping-apartments.

The lodge was noisy. Loud talking, the coming and going of servants with
trays, the crackle of wood fires in which whole logs were burning, and,
as Nikky and his escort entered, the roaring chorus of a hunting-song
filled the ears.

Two of the men flung off their heavy coats, and proceeded without
ceremony into the room whence the sounds issued. The third, however,
still holding the letter, ushered Nikky into a small side room, a
sort of study, since it contained a desk. For kings must pursue their
clerical occupations even on holiday. A plain little room it was,
containing an American typewriter, and beside the desk only a chair or
two upholstered in red morocco.

Nikky had reluctantly removed his cap. His goggles, however, he ventured
to retain. He was conscious that his guide was studying him intently.
But not with suspicion, he thought: Rather as one who would gauge the
caliber of the man before him. He seemed satisfied, too, for his voice,
which had been curt, grew more friendly.

"You had no trouble?" he asked.

"None, sir."

"Did Niburg say anything?"

Niburg, then, was the spy of the cathedral. Nikky reflected. Suddenly he
saw a way out. It was, he afterward proclaimed, not his own thought.
It came to him like a message. He burned a candle to his patron saint,
sometime later, for it.

"The man Niburg had had an unfortunate experience, sir. He reported
that, during an evening stroll, before he met me, he was attacked by
three men, with the evident intention of securing the letter. He was
badly beaten up."

His companion started. "Niburg," he said. "Then--" He glanced at the
letter he held. "We must find some one else," he muttered. "I never
trusted the fellow. A clerk, nothing else. For this work it takes wit."

Nikky, sweating with st