at them and
see that it is true! I tell you we have rendered Austria a high service.
One death--one death--at Vienna--and this son of a madman would be king!
He is Frederick Augustus, the son of the Archduke Karl!"

The room was very still as the last words rang out. The old Ambassador's
gaze clung to Armitage; he stepped nearer, the perspiration breaking out
upon his brow, and his lips trembled as he faltered:

"He would be king; he would be king!"

Then Armitage spoke sharply to Claiborne.

"That will do. The gentleman may retire now."

As Claiborne thrust Chauvenet out of the room, Armitage turned to the
little company, smiling.

"I am not Frederick Augustus, the son of the Archduke Karl," he said
quietly; "nor did I ever pretend that I was, except to lead those men on
in their conspiracy. The cigarette case that caused so much trouble
at Mr. Claiborne's supper-party belongs to me. Here it is."

The old Ambassador snatched it from him eagerly.

"This device--the falcon poised upon a silver helmet! You have much to
explain, Monsieur."

"It is the coat-of-arms of the house of Schomburg. The case belonged to
Frederick Augustus, Karl's son; and this sword was his; and these orders
and that cloak lying yonder--all were his. They were gifts from his
father. And believe me, my friends, I came by them honestly."

The Baron bent over the table and spilled the orders from their silver
box and scanned them eagerly. The colored ribbons, the glittering jewels,
held the eyes of all. Many of them were the insignia of rare orders no
longer conferred. There were the crown and pendant cross of the
Invincible Knights of Zaringer; the white falcon upon a silver helmet,
swung from a ribbon of cloth of gold--the familiar device of the house of
Schomburg, the gold Maltese cross of the Chevaliers of the Blessed
Sacrament; the crossed swords above an iron crown of the Ancient Legion
of Saint Michael and All Angels; and the full-rigged ship pendant from
triple anchors--the decoration of the rare Spanish order of the Star of
the Seven Seas. Silence held the company as the Ambassador's fine old
hands touched one after another. It seemed to Shirley that these baubles
again bound the New World, the familiar hills of home, the Virginia
shores, to the wallowing caravels of Columbus.

The Ambassador closed the silver box the better to examine the white
falcon upon its lid. Then he swung about and confronted Armitage.

"Where is he, Mon