e
went upon a diplomatic mission to High Macedonia, the dark and sinister
state. He was sent by none, but he had a reason, for Dimitrius, his
sometime friend, had fled to the capital of the higher Balkan state and
Serganoff went down without authority to terrify his sometime confidant
into returning for trial. In High Macedonia the exquisite young man was
led by sheer curiosity to make certain inquiries into the domestic
administration of the country, and learnt things.

He had hardly made himself master of these before he was sent for by the
Foreign Minister.

"Highness," said the suave man, stroking his long, brown beard, "how
long have you been in the capital?"

"Some four days, Excellency," said the Prince.

"That is ninety-six hours too long," said the minister. "There is a
train for the north in forty minutes. You will catch that, and God be
with you!"

Prince Serganoff did not argue but went out from the ornate office, and
the Minister called a man who was waiting.

"If his Highness does not leave by the four o'clock train, cut his
throat and carry the body to one of the common houses of the
town--preferably that of the man Domopolo, the Greek, who is a bad
character, and well deserving of death."

"Excellency," said the man gravely, and saluted his way out.

They knew Serganoff in High Macedonia and were a little anxious. Had
they known him better they would have feared him less. He did not leave
by the four o'clock train, but by a special which was across the
frontier by four. He sat in a cold sweat till the frontier post was
past.

This man was a mass of contradictions. He liked the good things of life.
He bought his hosiery in Paris, his shoes in Vienna, his suits and
cravats in New York; and it is said of him that he made a special
pilgrimage to London--the Mecca of those who love good leather
work--for the characteristic attache cases which were so indispensable
to the Chief of Gendarmerie of the Marsh Town.

He carried with him the irrepressible trimness and buoyancy of youth,
with his smooth, sallow face, his neat black moustache and his
shapeliness of outline. An exquisite of exquisites, he had never felt
the draughts of life or experienced its rude buffetings.

His perfectly-appointed flat in the Morskaya had been modelled to his
taste and fancy. It was a suite wherein you pressed buttons and
comfortable things happened. You opened windows and boiled water, or
summoned a valet to your bed