to their feet.

"It isn't possible!" gasped Durand.

"It is quite possible," replied Chauvenet. "The emblem is unmistakable.
Good God, look!"

The sweat had broken out on Chauvenet's face and he leaped to the chair
where his coat hung, and caught up the garment with shaking hands. The
silk lining fluttered loose where Armitage had roughly torn out the
envelope.

"Who is he? Who is he?" whispered Durand, very white of face.

"It may be--it must be some one deeply concerned."

Chauvenet paused, drawing his hand across his forehead slowly; then the
color leaped back into his face, and he caught Durand's arm so tight that
the man flinched.

"There has been a man following me about; I thought he was interested in
the Claibornes. He's here--I saw him at the Monte Rosa to-night. God!"

He dropped his hand from Durand's arm and struck the table fiercely with
his clenched hand.

"John Armitage--John Armitage! I heard his name in Florence."

His eyes were snapping with excitement, and amazement grew in his face.

"Who is John Armitage?" demanded Durand sharply; but Chauvenet stared at
him in stupefaction for a tense moment, then muttered to himself:

"Is it possible? Is it possible?" and his voice was hoarse and his hand
trembled as he picked up the cigarette case.

"My dear Jules, you act as though you had seen a ghost. Who the devil is
Armitage?"

Chauvenet glanced about the room cautiously, then bent forward and
whispered very low, close to Durand's ear:

"Suppose he were the son of the crazy Karl! Suppose he were Frederick
Augustus!"

"Bah! It is impossible! What is your man Armitage like?" asked Durand
irritably.

"He is the right age. He is a big fellow and has quite an air. He seems
to be without occupation."

"Clearly so," remarked Durand ironically. "But he has evidently been
watching us. Quite possibly the lamented Stroebel employed him. He may
have seen Stroebel here--"

Chauvenet again struck the table smartly.

"Of course he would see Stroebel! Stroebel was the Archduke's friend;
Stroebel and this fellow between them--"

"Stroebel is dead. The Archduke is dead; there can be no manner of doubt
of that," said Durand; but doubt was in his tone and in his eyes.

"Nothing is certain; it would be like Karl to turn up again with a son to
back his claims. They may both be living. This Armitage is not the
ordinary pig of a secret agent. We must find him."

"And quickly. There must be--"

"--a