w by the uniforms that he was in the hands of the
enemy. He turned sulkily silent then, convinced that he had escaped one
death but to meet another. Twenty-four hours now he had faced eternity,
and he was ready.

He preferred, however, to die fully clothed, and when, in response to
his pointing up the bank and to his inarticulate mouthings, one of the
secret police examined the bit of woodland with his pocket flash, he
found a pair of trousers where Nikky had left them, neatly folded and
hung over the branch of a tree. The brandy being supplemented by hot
coffee from a patent bottle, the man revived further, made an effort,
and sat up. His tongue was still swollen, but they made out what he
said. He had been there since the night before. People had passed, a
few peasants, a man with a cart, but he could not cry out, and he had
hesitated to risk the plunge to the road. But at last he had made it. He
was of Karnia, and a King's messenger.

"I was coming back from the barrier," he said thickly, "where I had
carried dispatches to the officer in charge. On my return a man hailed
me from the side of, the road, near where you found me. I thought that
he desired to be taken on, and stopped my car. But he attacked me. He
was armed and I was not. He knocked me senseless, and when I awakened
I was above the road, among trees. I gave myself up when the snow
commenced. Few pass this way. But I heard your car coming and made a
desperate effort."

"Then," asked one of the agents, "these are not your clothes?"

"They are his; sir."

The agent produced a flash-light and inspected the garments. Before the
Chancellor's eyes, button by button, strap on the sleeve, star on the
cuff, came into view the uniform of a captain of his own regiment, the
Grenadiers. Then one of his own men had done this infamous thing, one of
his own officers, indeed.

"Go through the pockets," he continued sternly.

Came, into view under the flash a pair of gloves, a box of matches, a
silk handkerchief, a card-case. The agent said nothing, but passed a
card to the Chancellor, who read it without comment.

There was silence in the car.

At last the Chancellor stirred. "This man--he took your car on?"

"Yes. And he has not returned. No other machine has passed."

The secret-service men exchanged glances. There was more to this than
appeared. Somewhere ahead, then, was Nikky Larisch, with a motor that
did got belong to him, and wearing clothing which his