y like a blind man; and Speed and
I entered, saluting Mornac.

The personage whom we saluted was a symmetrical, highly colored
gentleman, with black mustache and Oriental eyes. His skin was too
smooth--there was not a line or a wrinkle visible on hand or face,
nothing but plump flesh pressing the golden collar of his light-blue
tunic and the half-dozen gold rings on his carefully kept, restless
fingers. His light, curved sabre hung by its silver chain from a nail
on a wall behind him; beside it, suspended by the neck cord, was his
astrakhan-trimmed dolman of palest turquoise-blue, and over that hung
his scarlet cap.

As he raised his heavy-lidded, insolent eyes to me, I thought I had
never before appreciated the utter falseness of his visage as I did at
that moment. Instantly I decided that he meant evil to me; and I
instinctively glanced at Speed, standing beside me at attention, his
clear blue eyes alert, his lank limbs and lean head fairly tremulous
with comprehension.

At a careless nod from Mornac I muttered the formal "I have to
report, sir--" and began mumbling a perfunctory account of my
movements since leaving Paris. He listened, idly contemplating a
silver penknife which he alternately snapped open and closed, the
click of the spring punctuating my remarks.

I told the truth as far as I went, which brought me to my capture by
Uhlans and the natural escape of my prisoner, Buckhurst. I merely
added that I had secured the diamonds and had managed to reach Paris
via Strasbourg.

"Is that all?" inquired Mornac, listlessly.

"All I have to report, sir."

"Permit me to be the judge of how much you have to report," said
Mornac. "Continue."

I was silent.

"Do you prefer that I draw out information by questions?" asked
Mornac, looking up at me.

I was already in his net; I ought not to have placed myself in the
position of concealing anything, yet I distrusted him and wished to
avoid giving him a chance to misunderstand me. But now it was too
late; if the error could be wiped out at all, the only way to erase it
was by telling him everything and giving him his chance to
misinterpret me if he desired it.

He listened very quietly while I told of my encounter with Buckhurst
in Morsbronn, of our journey to Saverne, to Strasbourg, and finally my
own arrival in Paris.

"Where is Buckhurst?" he asked.

"I do not know," I replied, doggedly.

"That is to say that you had him in your power within the French