he corner of the
room.

"I called it an ornament, and yet in other hands it might well prove a
serviceable weapon. The blade is of Spanish steel. You will honour me by
wearing it."

Wogan was in two minds with regard to the Count. On the one hand, he was
most grateful; on the other he could not but think that over his books
he had fallen into a sickly way of thought. He was quite ready, however,
to wear his sword; moreover, when he had hooked the hanger to his belt
he looked about the room.

"I had a pistol," he said carelessly, "a very useful thing is a pistol,
more useful at times than a sword."

"I keep one in my bedroom," said the Count, setting the lamp down, "if
you can wait the few moments it will take me to fetch it."

Mr. Wogan was quite able to wait. He was indeed sufficiently generous to
tell Count Otto that he need not hurry. The Count fetched the pistol and
took up the lamp again.

"Will you now follow me?"

Wogan looked straight before him into the air and spoke to no one in
particular.

"A pistol is, to be sure, more useful than a sword; but there is just
one thing more useful on an occasion than a pistol, and that is a
hunting knife."

Count Otto shook his head.

"There, Chevalier, I doubt if I can serve you."

"But upon my word," said Wogan, picking up a carving-knife from the
tray, "here is the very thing."

"It has no sheath."

Wogan was almost indignant at the suggestion that he would go so far as
to ask even his dearest friend for a sheath. Besides, he had a sheath,
and he fitted the knife into it.

"Now," said he, pleasantly, "all that I need is a sound, swift,
thoroughbred horse about six or seven years old."

Count Otto for the fourth time took up his lamp.

"Will you follow me?" he said for the fourth time.

Wogan followed the old man across the lawn and round a corner of the
house until he came to a long, low building surmounted by a cupola. The
building was the stable, and the Count Otto roused one of his grooms.

"Saddle me Flavia," said he. "Flavia is a mare who, I fancy, fulfils
your requirements."

Wogan had no complaint to make of her. She had the manners of a
courtier. It seemed, too, that she had no complaint to make of Mr.
Wogan. Count Otto laid his hand upon the bridle and led the mare with
her rider along a lane through a thicket of trees and to a small gate.

"Here, then, we part, Chevalier," said he. "No doubt to-morrow I shall
sit down at my table, know